


Testing the Boundaries

by MerKat



Series: MerKat RPs [24]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bottom John, Bottom Sherlock, Cock Rings, Collars, Dom/sub, Domspace, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Kneeling, Knifeplay, M/M, Negotiations, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Abuse, Punishment, Riding Crops, Subspace, Top John, Top Sherlock, Topping from the Bottom, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:18:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2497682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerKat/pseuds/MerKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John meets Sherlock by chance, he thinks that he's finally found someone to make him whole. He didn't realise the favour needed returning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://themadkatter13.tumblr.com/post/93320869744/obligatory-aus-i-really-want-post) and the bulletpoint "forced to share a table at the coffee shop a couple days in a row because crowded coffee shop and no room AU".

There was a small coffeeshop between the depressing bedsit John had moved into when he'd come back to London and the transit stop he used to get to work. In the mornings, he'd taken to treating himself with a coffee from this little cafe; out of all the 'not good' currently in his life, he wanted something to counteract it, even if it was only an unusually amazing cup of coffee. Normally, it was fairly empty, only occupied by regulars at the time he was breezing through. The first day of snow, however, he walked in at a dark and early 04:53, and found nearly every table at the small shop filled. He blinked and nearly turned right back around, but the smell of coffee hit him just as he saw a single empty chair across the room. The table it was connected to already occupied, but with another glance around the room, several people looked like they might already be sharing with strangers and he decided he may as well give it a try. The worst the man could do was say no and John would just have to take his coffee to go this morning.

Slowly, John limped his way through the masses, the subs bowing their heads deferentially when he passed by with a murmured "Excuse me," and the Doms glaring or sneering down at him with contempt or indifference. He was used to being looked down on; the Watsons had never been tall and John was considered the runt of the litter, which had always made others question his dynamic as a Dom. If they actually bothered to spend time with him, however, it wasn't long before their misconceptions were corrected. Finally, leg starting to ache dully from the delicacy of maneuvering on wet flooring around feet and purses, he made it to the one open seat, eyeing the man sitting at the table.

The dark-haired, pale-skinned man was without a collar, and he sat like a Dom, but there was no further indication of his dynamic. He could be a Dom, or he could be a switch. He could even be a masterless sub with an exceptional mask. John had seen all types, played with all types, but most importantly, and most unusually, _respected_ all types. He closed the distance and rested a fingertip on the uppermost wood slat that made up the back of the chair. "May I sit here?" he asked, voice utterly devoid of Command and only as loud as it needed to be to cut through the din.

Sherlock had been pouring over some papers after chasing a criminal all night. He looked up and quickly took in the man. Dom, but he’d asked, so polite. Not currently with a partner. Doctor, soldier. _Interesting_. "Of course." Sherlock waved at him. The man’s knee was bothering him, but it was psychosomatic. Clearly not back that long, but long enough for a therapist.

"Thank you," John replied with a smile, shrugging off his jacket and laying it over the back of his chair, a claim so stragglers couldn't claim the same spot he just had. The man, who appeared a bit younger than him, seemed rather occupied with paperwork spread out over most of the table. As he sat, the Dom realised the absence of any kind of drink or food on the table, and he turned to eye the queue at the counter speculatively. "Have you been waiting long for your order?"

"I haven’t ordered anything," said Sherlock, eyes back on his papers. "This was simply a place open at this hour. You are here because of nearness to the stop."

"Well, it is on my way to work," he replied with a raised eyebrow. Something about the way the other man had said it though, absolutely assured as if it were fact rather than a guess. He turned and looked at the queue again, pleased to see it had shortened a bit. "I'm about to join the queue. Did you have an order you would like me to place for you?"

"No," said Sherlock shortly. The man gazed at him a moment before getting up and making his way to the queue. His limp seemed a bit less pronounced now as he walked away. He was deciding if Sherlock was a threat or something else. Another Dom ‘accidentally’ knocked into him and John glared at the man. The other one seemed somewhat taken aback by the fierceness of the glare and quickly retreated. Amend this man to _very_ interesting.

As a regular who always ordered the same thing, John had no need for the menu for himself, and he could see one of the subs at the counter recognise him, smiling brightly at him as the young man started on his order. Occupied as he was with the food items listed on the board behind the counter, however, John could only give a distracted nod as he contemplated his choices and their potential success. The man at the table reminded him of people he'd known in uni, people who got so involved with their studies that they forgot to eat or drink, and the doctor could still remember well the methods he’d employed to entice them towards sustenance.

"Good morning, sir!" the young man behind the counter chirped. "Would you like your usual this morning?" he asked, a mere formality bred by his dynamic. The sub’s hand was already lingering by a cup with steam rising from the lid’s aperture.

"Yes, please," John replied with a gentle smile, approval heavy in his voice. It was as close as he could get to actual praise for a company's employees, ones he was sure typically received more reprimand than compliment from customers as it was. The young man behind the counter flushed prettily and placed an already-prepared cup on the counter before poking at his register screen. "Actually," he spoke up, the firm finger pausing instantly, "could I also get a plate of biscuits and a cup of water?" The sub's eyes darted to the table he'd occupied where the pale man still sat, poring over his papers, and it could have been his imagination, but the Dom could have sworn the barista's expression fell. But a moment later, he was dashing away to fulfill John's request, and soon enough, the doctor was making his way back to the table.

The plate clattered as it was set on the table. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the offering, but still reached for a biscuit. "The barista is waiting for you to ask him out," he said. Was the other man willfully ignorant or did he not see the obvious? Well, few people ever saw the obvious. 

"Really?" John asked in surprise, turning his head back towards the counter. The young man, far far too young, saw him looking and his face turned red as he snapped to work. The Dom chuckled and subtly pushed forward the water he'd gotten. Without even appearing to notice he was doing it, the man across from him picked it up and took a drink. "He looks a bit too fresh for me," John dismissed, mind regardless conjuring an image of the sub laid bare under his riding crop. The very thought felt wrong and he frowned. But then the barista in his mind turned into his table partner, and it felt so _right_ seeing the dark-haired pale stranger under his tools that he choked on his coffee. He quickly shook the images free; nothing was quite as dangerous as getting someone's dynamic wrong, and as much fun as two Doms could have with one another, it was in their very nature to bend, to control. "No, he's not really... my type."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, looking at the Dom. "That particular young man is too young for you. But you currently do not have a sub. You aren’t sure you’re even deserving of one at the moment, as you feel you can barely take care of yourself. Which is incorrect, you are taking care of yourself as well as you believe you can. You are also trying to determine my dynamic before you proceed much further into this conversation."

Cup halfway to his mouth, John froze, stunned, and then slowly put his cup down. "Am I that obvious?" he asked with a weak chuckle. Gone was the confident 'Three Continents' Watson from the army, replaced with a useless soldier, doctor, and Dom. "I should go. I'm sorry for bothering you."

For once in his life, a flash of guilt passed through Sherlock as the man crumpled before him. "I’m a sub," he said quickly. "And I _like_ that you aren’t like most Doms." He didn’t want the man to go. "I’ve got a much better flat than the one you’re currently using. I’m not a good flatmate, but perhaps you would prefer it?"

John sank slowly back into his seat, feeling only the vaguest tinges of relief. A sub. That was something. At least he wasn't barking up the wrong tree. Accidentally hitting on other Doms never went particularly we-- Wait. "We've just met and we're going to move into a flat together?"

Sherlock smirked. "Yes." His phone chirped and he glanced at it. "With this weather, your job will be expecting you to be late. You’ve seen plenty of violent death on the battlefield and I could use an assistant." He quickly gathered his papers. "When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they call me. I’m a detective."

As the man across from him, the sub, stood quickly, John found himself doing the same, as if he were a puppet on strings. And then he frowned. Again. "Hold on," he said as the brunet began sticking the rolled up sheaf of papers into a pocket on the inside of his coat and then immediately threw on a scarf and a nice pair of gloves. Looking up, John realised how intimidating the sub looked kitted up against the cold and the half foot of difference in their heights. It wasn't until then that he realised how utterly gorgeous the man was and how posh he looked alive with sudden energy and so utterly out of his class. "Hold on," John repeated with just enough Command to reach into the space between them, and the frantic movements paused. "Please," he added softly.

Sherlock blinked. No Dom had ever calmed him so quickly before. Make that very, _very_ interesting. Taking a breath, he looked down at the Dom. "Yes?" He realised with a sudden flush that he would get his knees for this man. And oh, wasn’t that curious. He hadn't even been interested in anyone since... but that didn't matter now. He wanted to take that desire apart in his mind, but the man was holding him with his eyes.

The sub's stillness was fascinating to watch, like electricity caged, only confined because he was allowing it. "First, we don't even know each other's names and I have no idea where this flat is." He could have been worried that the other was a murderer who liked to lure unsuspecting victims, but frankly, even that would have been better than the life he had now. More interesting, certainly. "Second, are you really comfortable moving in with a Dom you don't know?"

"Sherlock Holmes. 221b Baker Street. And yes." Sherlock winked at him. "They are expecting me soon. Will you come?"

The whole situation was highly irregular. Subs weren't usually the ones to pursue a Dom, but something told him Sherlock was not like other subs. And John had always thrived on 'highly irregular'. "Uh, John Watson," he replied, holding his hand out for a shake, something normally only between Doms, but figuring from the other's general demeanor that it would be currently more welcome than any traditional Dom/sub gesture. "And sure. I'll go with you."

Sherlock shook. "Excellent." He led the way out into the snow and quickly hailed a cab. Everything about John Watson pleased him. Which was mildly terrifying in and of itself, but he set that thought aside.

Soon enough, he was leading the doctor into a crime scene. Lestrade started to protest, but shook his head and stepped aside as Sherlock started deducing this most recent victim. 

John could only stand and stare in awe at the things Sherlock could pull out of thin air with just the tiniest, most insignificant details. Oddly, though, every time a particularly brilliant deduction was made, the sub's eyes would slide towards him as he were looking for approval. But then he noticed the attractive, silver-haired inspector, who was definitely _not_ looking for his approval, glancing at him too. He'd been whispering compliments in his mind to the man hopping this way and that through the crime scene, and his face began to heat at the same time he started to wonder if he'd actually been speaking aloud.

Sherlock finished and stood back. Lestrade was grinning at John. "All right then, go get some sleep Sherlock. I know you haven’t had any." Lestrade was using a bit of his Dom voice, but the detective shrugged it off. 

Sherlock gestured at John to come with him. "Do you know you say that out loud?" The truth was he’d rather enjoyed the words. He was rarely praised that way. It made him feel flush.

"I uh, hadn't. No," John admitted, face growing hot as he looked away from the all-seeing stormy gaze. "I'm sorry. I'll stop." They were standing at a kerb, presumably waiting for a cab, but instead of trying to flag one down, they were standing side by side, not looking at one another. Well, John wasn't looking at Sherlock, but from the feeling on his temple, he wasn't sure he could say the same about the sub.

"I don’t mind." Sherlock summoned a cab and got the door for the Dom. It wasn’t a gesture he normally would do, but it felt right for John.

"Oh, thank you," John murmured as he slid into the vehicle, a bit surprised at the gesture. From the sub's interactions with others at the crime scene, it was clear Sherlock was more inclined to do the opposite of what he was told, no matter who told him or how much Command they put into their voice. But if he was doing this voluntarily, taking care of John as a sub would for their Dom, then perhaps they did actually have a chance working something out. He still felt ridiculously unworthy of such an amazing person; he was never terribly insecure, but the bullet still remaining in part in his shoulder had damaged more than his nervous system, and being around someone as gorgeous and as brilliant as the consulting detective wasn't helping much. At least Sherlock's continued lack of dismissal was a start.

Sherlock found himself watching John under his lashes. He hadn't really considered accepting a Dom in years; all those that had tried asserting themselves had been shut down in moments with their tail between their legs. The fact that John hadn’t tried forcing anything meant a lot. Even the bit of Command at the cafe had simply been to try and calm him, not assert authority. Though Sherlock suspected he’d be willing to submit to this one. It was an unusual thought, to say the least. Right now, he simply wanted him back in his territory and see how he reacted.

The ride to 221 Baker Street was filled with a comfortable quiet. John, for his part, wanted to wait to have the kind of discussion they'd need to have until they didn't have some stranger eavesdropping on it, and Sherlock seemed content to do... whatever it was he was doing on his phone. His fingers were flying over the tiny keyboard at a envious speed, and the Dom found himself entranced by the grace of those slim fingers. When they finally stopped at a typical city flat, three stories tall and squashed between several near-identical flats simply painted differently, Sherlock slid a few bills to the cabbie and bounded away and up the stairs into the flat before John had even put both feet on the pavement.

Quickly, Sherlock tried to straighten the worst of the piles and made sure the experiment on the kitchen table wasn’t anything too terrifying. John’s feet were steady on the stairs and smirked to think that there was no sign of the limp at all. He turned the kettle on and sat in his chair, looking up at the Dom. His heart beat a little faster.

"This looks cozy," John commented, closing the door marked 'B' he'd just walked though as he took in the warm, eclectic sitting room. Sherlock had sat in a leather and steel chair, but there was a plush, checkered chair across from him, and the Dom settled into it easily. Now comfortable, he regarded the other man for a long moment, trying to figure out where to start. It had been too long, before the army, since he'd got into anything like this. Clarification, then. Clarification was where they needed to start. "First, before anything else, I need to know: do you want me here as your Dom, or as your flatmate?"

Sherlock steepled his fingers. "Flatmate first. Though…" He hesitated. "I would not be opposed to the former." Even if they’d only met a few hours ago, Sherlock already felt he could trust this man. Everything indicated to him that John would be unusually compatible.

"Whatever you want," John promised with a gentle smile. It was incredibly pleasing to hear that more was potentially open for discussion in the future. "May I please see where I'll be staying?" As long as Sherlock was not his sub, he would do his best to treat the other man as just that, another man. At the same time, the sub didn't seem to be getting much praise in his daily life, so he would have to figure out how to do it subtly; he had seen what happened to subs who did not receive the praise their psyche required to survive, and he didn't want that to happen to Sherlock. Or, he could just keep responding to the genius's deductions the way he had been; that had been entirely accidental, completely sincere, and apparently something unexpected but welcome.

"Of course. It’s right up here." Sherlock led him up the stairs. The room was smaller than his own, but positively spacious compared to a bedsit. He could tell by the way John looked around that he’d made up his mind. Excellent.

Just then his mobile chirped again. He glanced at it. "Inspector Lestrade has some more information for us. The game's afoot." He turned and hurried down the stairs, knowing John would be right after.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I (Kat) was supposed to post this yesterday. I'm so sorry everyone. -.-|l|

The few days that followed were as intense as an invasion and just as memorable. Sherlock was a force of nature, breaking and entering when needed, putting on incredible acts to whittle answers from witnesses, coercing the mousy switch in Bart's labs, and John was enchanted. He was completely sucked into the sub's energy, and four days of investigation culminated with the murderer pulling a knife on Sherlock, and John taking him down with a dive-tackle. He had seen the shine of the blade and his mind had gone sharp and cold with protective fury for the reckless sub. And if the downed criminal had perhaps ended up with a broken hand and a dislocated shoulder by the time Sherlock had walked up with a pair of handcuffs, well, it was no skin off John's back.

Sherlock was astounded. Nobody had ever tried to protect him. Most would call him a freak and leave him to wolves as soon as do anything to help him. But John… Sherlock felt like the alchemist who discovered the philosopher's stone. John was the thing to turn his base metal to gold. With John he wanted to be better, tried to be better. He was quite happy to turn the suspect over to Lestrade. 

Giddy, they stumbled back into Baker Street. Sherlock wondered how he could show the Dom that he wanted to be his sub. He hadn’t subbed in a long while, unless it was playing up his nature for a case.

"Tea?" John called as he tossed his jacket over the back of his chair on his way to the kitchen. Sherlock didn't reply, but the doctor hadn't really expected him to; over the last few days, he had learned that Sherlock not ordering anything at the cafe was a common thing, and he didn't actually believe in eating during cases. As both a doctor and a Dom, John could not allow this, and he had already managed to figure out how to slip the absent-minded genius the sustenance his body required.

The Dom pulled out of his mind as the kettle whistled and prepared two cuppas, already familiar with the overly-sweet way the man took his tea. He hummed softly to himself as he carried them back into the sitting room, more than ready to have at least one relaxing day after the few he'd just had. He was halfway back to his chair when he froze, nearly dropping both mugs at the surprising and arousing sight of Sherlock, coat and scarf and all with his back to John, kneeling next to the Dom's chair.

Licking his lips, Sherlock heard John stop. He watched through lowered lashes as he circled to stand in front of him. John was definitely aroused. Good sign. Still, he was anxious over whether or not John would accept the offering as the small Dom crossed to him and set the mugs aside, looking him over. Bowing his head further, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

John's heart was beating fast as he stared down at the offering, still covered as it was by the soft, blue scarf. Sherlock had said he'd consider... But now? Hesitantly, he reached down and placed his hand across the back of Sherlock's neck, grip slowly tightening. Beneath his palm, even through the material of the scarf, the sub's body tensed, and the Dom began to wonder how well thought out the other's decision had been.

"I will give you this one chance to change your mind. I am going to take my hand from your neck. If this is just adrenaline and endorphins from the case, and you are not yet ready to become my sub, then you may get up and drink your tea, and I will forget about this until you are ready. If this is something you have thought about, and you well and truly want, then you will take off your scarf and I will put my hand back, and we can begin." He waited a moment after speaking, giving time for the words to sink in before pulling his hand away, heart pounding anxiously in his chest.

Sherlock swallowed, taking a moment to weigh things in his mind. He’d been thinking about it for days, catching glimpses of John and thinking of how it would feel to give himself over. Steady fingers reached up and loosened his scarf, slowly pulling it free. He kept it loose in his hand as he waited. Sherlock’s heartbeat echoed in his chest and he wondered if John could hear it.

The Dom almost moaned as the blue slipped away to reveal a pale nape made paler by the dark curls edging it. This time, assured by Sherlock's choice, his reach was steady and quick, hand dropping onto the back of the sub's neck and squeezing tight. The man below him shuddered, and then the tension seemed to leave him in a rush with a shaky exhale. "Good," he praised, voice soft in the quiet air, his thumb slowly stroking the curve of that pale neck. He turned and sat, not once letting go of Sherlock's neck as he spread his own legs apart. "Come here, please," he requested, pulling lightly at the man who had willingly put himself under John's control.

Sherlock obeyed, shuffling over on his knees, eager to know what John would ask of him. He found himself wanting to please, wanting to earn more praise from those lips. The hand on his neck was firm and he licked his lips, relaxing further under his grip.

John relaxed back into his chair as Sherlock moved into place between his knees, and only then did the Dom’s hand move. He slid his palm from the sub’s neck forward along his jaw, guiding him to lay his head along the inside of John’s thigh. "I need to know two more things," he said as he started to stroke his fingers through the dark hair. "What is your safeword, and would you prefer this be a one-time thing, to see how we work together, or would you like to review a contract with me when the scene is completed?"

Sherlock's heart fluttered again. "I can't imagine being with anyone else." It was true. Though there hadn’t been a scene in a long time, he wanted to, with John. Put the ghosts of his past behind him. Leaning against the Dom’s thigh with those steady fingers in his hair felt like home. "And I've always used the standard ‘red’ as my safe word."

"Good. I had rather hoped you’d say that," John replied, excited by the prospect of a long-term contract with the brilliant man at his feet. "We’ll review limits later, unless there is anything I must know now. To begin, I don’t care what you think I’ll like, if I start doing something you’re not comfortable with, I want you to safeword. Yellow for if you want what’s currently happening to stop, but want the scene to continue, red if you want the scene to stop entirely. Additionally, you will think of your own words for green, yellow, and red for next time. Is all that understood?" 

Sherlock frowned and opened his mouth, and John could already tell that whatever was about to come out of those lips was not going to be the assent he was looking for. He tightened his grip and angled the sub’s head up for their eyes to meet. 

"Is that understood?" he repeated, a bit of Command seeping into his voice.

Sherlock swallowed his protest. "Yes, sir." 

John studied his face a moment, then relaxed his grip on his hair. 

"I am clean," said Sherlock, knowing it would be a concern of the doctor. "But if you wish to use protection until we've both been tested, I will understand."

"No, I really don’t," John declined. He bent his head low, placing his lips next to the younger man’s ear. "The first time I’m inside you, there will be nothing between us." There was a breathy exhale against his neck as a shudder wracked the kneeling form. "I hate to admit it, but I’m not quite prepared for a scene. I hadn’t really expected you to accept me so soon. All I have by way of tools at the moment is my riding crop. Do you have anything here? If you don’t, this will simply be a very basic scene until I can get to a shop."

"There are a few items in my bedroom. In the closet." _Our bedroom,_ his mind suggested. Sherlock rather hoped he'd be allowed to sleep with John. But he'd known Doms that wouldn't allow it. 

"All right then. Go get them, lay them _all_ out on the bed, and then strip," he instructed, finally releasing the sub’s hair. "I know you own your own crop, but for now, I’ll be using mine. Now go!" Sherlock jumped to his feet and raced away towards his bedroom. "And fold your clothes!" John called after him, more than familiar with the other man’s less-than-tidy habits. His pace was a fair dealer slower as he traversed the stairs towards his room, giving the sub enough time to obey his order.

The riding crop, all-leather and his very first Dom tool purchase, was wrapped in cloth at the bottom of his duffel, and he cleaned and treated it as regularly as he did his gun, whether or not they’d actually been used the day before. John’s hold on it was almost a caress as he walked back down to Sherlock’s room, excited to begin, and then promptly stopped dead at the sight of the man, naked and kneeling, on the centre of the bed behind a small collection of Dom’s tools neatly lined up along the side. "You’re doing well so far, Sherlock. And you folded your clothes. I’m proud of you."

Sherlock couldn't help the blush in his cheeks at the compliment. He didn't have much, just a few dildos, plugs, and a vibrator, along with fine rope, a pair of cuffs, and a blindfold. He was buzzing with nervous energy, anticipating what John might do and trying not to think so much. He wanted to please, to hear more praise. And he wanted to be filled, in any way John might choose. 

John could hardly wait to feel the feedback loop that would develop between them when he managed to coax Sherlock into subspace. The Dom himself had discovered that, with the amount of discreet caretaking the consulting detective seemed to require just to get through the day, he was constantly floating along the edges of Domspace. It was a heady sensation, and it had been a bit disorienting at first; but just like his limp, it was something he was slowly getting used to, though this change was a lot more pleasant.

Slowly, he moved forward, stroking a finger over each tool, each _offering_ , contemplating how he may use them for their first scene together, and raising an eyebrow at the length and girth of some of the dildos. With all the partners he’d had in the past, the size of his cock had seemed to more than make up for his lack of height, even if it had taken a good deal of stretching before either woman or man could take him. But several of the dildos in front of him would be an even match for his own ‘equipment’. He glanced up at Sherlock to find the man’s head bowed, but only just enough to be appropriately deferential. John could still see stormy grey eyes from between dark, thick lashes. John smirked, but instead of dropping his gaze, like most subs would, Sherlock raised his chin to meet the Dom’s eyes full on.

"I want to open you with my fingers and my cock, so these will be useless," he muttered, flicking the dildos, plugs, and vibrator away, where they rolled into Sherlock’s lap. "And I would prefer not to bind you until you are sure of your trust in me as your Dom." He flicked away the rope and the handcuff where they joined the silicone. "I had considered using solely my riding crop, but perhaps..." He picked up the blindfold, fingering the formed lines indicating it was a properly fitted blindfold. "Yes, this will do nicely. Put those away nicely and come back," he instructed, laying the crop on the bed to join the blindfold.

Sherlock gathered the items in his arms and went to the closet, putting them away neatly, bending over slightly to give John a view of his arse. His cock was half-hard already, just anticipating. The riding crop looked lovely and well cared for, though he could also tell that it hadn’t been used in quite some time. Well, he was looking forward to it being put to use tonight. And the blindfold would only heighten the sensations.

Licking his lips again, Sherlock straightened and returned to the bed, kneeling again where he had been and trying not to anticipate.

Holding the blindfold in one hand, John took his time walking around the bed to Sherlock’s back, taking the blindfold with him. When he got there, he simply stared at the perfectly postured spine for a long moment before reaching his free hand up to stroke down and pause over each vertebrae. As his touch traveled, one by one, the sub below him relaxed until his breathing was steady and John’s palm was pressed to the base of his spine. It was truly exciting, having this much power over such a powerful man, and as the heft of that hit him, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to that same tempting nape. The one that, one day, might be adorned with his collar. He pulled away just enough to put the blindfold in place. "On your stomach."

 

Sherlock obeyed, pillowing his head on his arms. Already, he was more relaxed than in a very long time. The kiss to his neck seemed to seal the promise that John would take care of him. He could hear the Dom shifting and picking up the crop. Sherlock found he craved the pain almost as much as he craved John inside him. 

John had never before spent so much time just _staring_ at his subs. But Sherlock was so incredibly striking that he couldn’t help it. The smoothness of his legs, the curve of a surprisingly plush bum, the length of his spine. All of it topped with those riotous curls that the Dom didn’t think he would ever not want to touch. He placed his palm on the man’s shoulder and slid it down his spine and over his arse, all the way to his bony ankles. "Do not hold back any sounds from me. And make sure to count aloud," he demanded, standing back and adjusting his grip on the familiar leather before bringing it down with a faint whistle.

Sherlock hissed with the fresh sting. "One, sir," he panted. 

"’One, sir’, what?" John barked, bring it down again. 

Sherlock cried out mind whirring. "Two, sir."

"Sherlock..." It came down again, harder this time. 

_Oh._ "Three, sir. Thank you, sir." He groaned as it came down again. "Four, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Good boy," John praised, pausing to stroke the second mark he’d made, the patch of red bright on the pale skin covering Sherlock’s shoulder blade. "I had thought ten marks to start, but for forgetting, I think we’ll start with fifteen instead. How does that sound, Sherlock?" As he asked, he brought the tongue of the crop down on the sub’s arse, licking his lips at the resounding smack.

"Five, sir. Thank you, sir. Yes, sir." Sherlock found himself sinking into the rhythm as John continued. It was amazing. 

The sound of his sub’s voice beginning to break as the Dom rained down strikes six, seven, and eight made John’s heart pound and his cock throb, and the sensation of Sherlock beginning to sink into subspace was calling out to the edges of Domspace he was constantly floating near these days. There really was no other sensation, no other high, than a perfectly synchronised Dominant and submissive falling into that space together. It was something he always strived for in every scene, but it wasn’t something he could always achieve, either from a base incompatibility, or because one of them couldn’t let go. But even when he was able to, it never felt 100% _right_. Not like it felt falling into it now with Sherlock. He’d never felt so strong, so in control, so protective, in his own skin, and his body thrummed with the absolution of his place over the man under him.

As the last strikes fell, Sherlock's body faintly hummed. He'd never had a Dom so perfectly in sync with him. It felt like they were two parts of a finely-tuned machine; as if it was their fiftieth scene, not their first. Sherlock's cock lay fully hard underneath him, but he made no effort to move or rut against the bed. His Dom would take care of him. 

"You mark so pretty," John murmured, stroking a finger slowly over each mark, delighted at the extra heat emanating from each one. "I think your chest needs some as well. Roll over." His direction was fulfilled immediately, if a little sluggishly, perfectly in accordance with how a sub in subspace typically followed commands. As soon as he was flat on his back, Sherlock laid his hands at his sides. The Dom hummed contemplatively, and then wrapped a hand around each wrist, pulling them and placing them above the dark curls. "Stay." He released the thin wrists and, when they stayed, bent over to press a chaste kiss to the soft lips.

Sherlock moaned and let his legs fall slightly open. He wanted to chase that sweet kiss as it pulled away, but he remained where he was. John’s lips and teeth moved farther down and he groaned. The marks on his back and rear were hot against the cool sheets, but it only added to the bliss. His legs opened a little further, but he didn’t yet draw his knees up.

John chuckled at the unsubtle silent question. "Mmm, I'm sure you would like that, but I'm not quite done with you yet," the Dom informed from around the nipple currently held between his teeth. He pulled away slowly, stretching the nub gently and enjoying the way Sherlock's chest arched upward to follow. Finally, he released it and the sub fell back against the bed with a strangled groan that made John smile. Then he stepped back so quickly that the other man didn't have time to question his absence and promptly struck the inside of his sub's thigh with his riding crop.

Sherlock cried out. Now he did pull his knees up, spreading himself wider as he tried to count from the beginning again, words nearly coming out at a sob as the crop fell again and again. Finally the crop stilled again and he found himself trembling, craving, his cock leaking freely against his stomach and hands still in place.

"Such a good boy for me, Sherlock," John breathed, tracing the fresh marks. "Such a perfect sub." He felt high on Sherlock's pain, pain that was quite clearly not impacting the man's arousal. The Dom in turn was so hard that it hurt, pressed as it was against the zip of his jeans, even through his pants. "And good boys deserve rewards, don't they?" Sherlock was nodding frantically, now-silent tears still falling from under his blindfold. "All right then."

John pulled the bottle of lubricant from his pocket and placed it on the bed before he stripped quickly and methodically. As soon as he was bare, he moved up to kneel on the bed between the spread legs and poured lube into his dominant hand. His fingers were barely slicked before he worked his index and middle simultaneously into slick muscles tighter than a vice. Sherlock's hips rose and pushed his back into a gorgeous arch, the action tightening the muscles around John's fingers as the man moaned endlessly, the stretch of starting with two clearly on the edge of 'too much'.

It had been so long since Sherlock had a Dom. It was nearly overwhelming, John's fingers inside of him. _‘Yellow’_ flirted on the edge of his mind, but no, it felt too good. The fingers started to pump in and out and he tossed his head, trying to relax and ease their passage. 

"That’s right," John encouraged, placing the palm of his unoccupied hand flat to the centre of his sub’s belly, keeping him in place. "Just relax. You’re taking my fingers so well and I can’t wait to be inside you. I’ve wanted to fuck you since that first morning in the cafe. Did you know? I bet you did. But you weren’t going to kneel for me on day one. You wanted to see if I was right for you first. You wanted to see if I was going to take care of you. And I am, Sherlock. I’m going to take such good care of you." All throughout his his monologue The Dom never stopped working his fingers in and out of that tight hole, but never added a third. He wanted Sherlock to be stretched enough, but he wanted him to _feel_ it. John slid his fingers free slowly, shushing the whimpers of protest before he moved forward, placing the tip of his cock to the stretched rim and steadily pushed just the head inside.

Sherlock groaned, fighting the urge to push down, to demand more of that thick cock. He'd deduced that John was large, but it was different actually having it pressing into him. He bit his lip and breathed, tangling his fingers together. He wanted so badly to be good.

"Oh god, Sherlock, you’re so tight," John gasped, struggling not to just drop forward and thrust his way in. The sub was so tight around him that there was no way a move like that wouldn’t damage him, and as much as the Dom loved to see him crying from his riding crop, this was entirely different pain altogether, and completely unacceptable. He distracted himself by leaning forward, planting his right palm on the bedspread against Sherlock’s ribs, exposed as they were by his raised arms, as he reached forward with his left hand to stroke a thumb over the tear stains streaking pale cheeks. "You are absolutely beautiful when you cry," he whispered before pressing their lips together, just in time to swallow the sub’s cries when John sunk into his love as deep as he could go. "I can’t wait to see all the ways I can make you."

Taking a shuddering breath, Sherlock let go of the last of his tension, letting his tears fall free. He wanted to touch, want to feel the man above and inside of him, but he hadn’t been given permission. So instead he took another breath and let himself fall, trusting and knowing that this was the only Dom he would ever need. John started to move and a groan tore from his lips. Even his largest toy never seemed to fill him quite this way.

John could honestly say he’d never before been inside anyone as tight as Sherlock, and it was turning his mind to mush. It was difficult to maintain pace, to stave off his orgasm, but he wanted to still be aware when his sub came around his cock. It was a struggle for a minute, trying to angle his hips just right, and then suddenly, Sherlock went rigid and a high-pitched sound left his throat. John smiled triumphantly and kept his aim continuous and true as he slightly increased his pace, just enough to keep the pleasure from the pressure of his cock against his sub’s prostate consistent to keep Sherlock’s nerves alight like an electric fence.

"Please, sir. May I come, sir?" Sherlock was gasping, begging, fighting, with himself to keep his hands still. His whole body was on fire, needing to come, needing to find release. He tangled his hands in his hair, trying to ground himself, so very close already.

"Just a little longer, love," John panted. "You're not quite where I want you just yet." Wrapping his hands around the top of Sherlock's thighs, the ex-soldier rocked back onto his heels for a moment, distracted by a contemplation as he slammed back into place. Chances were the sub hadn't had much practice with a Dom in recent years, and making him ride John wouldn't get him off as quickly as pounding directly into his prostate would. On the other hand, watching that pale, marked form arch into the air above him while he forced himself to orgasm on John's cock, cock spurting his release helplessly onto his Dom's chest... Both ideas had equal merit, but John had promised a fairly basic scene today to ease them in. Mind made up, he simply hiked the man's hips closer and angled them a little more up before he began fucking into his sub, hard and fast and more determined than hellfire to feel Sherlock convulsing around him.

Crying out, Sherlock tried to think of anything to keep himself from finishing. But it was no use. He gave the smallest cry of warning before he was coming, hotly, streaking his stomach. It hadn’t felt this good, _ever_. He gasped through his orgasm, only slowly coming back to himself.

John had stilled. Sherlock’s heart froze as he blushed furiously, ashamed that he hadn’t been able to hold off just a little longer. Hating that he’d no doubt disappointed his Dom, he turned and buried his head against his arm. All he wanted to do was please and he hadn’t even managed a simple thing like refraining from climaxing. If John wasn’t still in him and holding his thighs he probably would have tried running off.

Sherlock’s orgasm had taken him by surprise and he’d froze, almost unable to believe what had just happened. "All that legendary control," he murmured and the sub flinched, turning his head further into his arm. "All that legendary control used to keep yourself together for everyone else, but you can’t use it for me?" He started to pull away and the calves by his hips flexed in, trying to keep him where his was. "Sherlock..." he said warningly, and the sub’s legs dropped to the bed. John pulled out and stood up, cock almost purple with how close his orgasm had been. It had been magnificent to feel, but it hadn’t been time just yet. "I am so disappointed..." He didn’t say ‘in you’, but by the anguished look on that gorgeous face,Sherlock knew.

Punishment, punishment, what punishment? Words simply weren’t enough. He had told Sherlock that he would come in him, so coming anywhere else would drill in what he’d done wrong. But what would emphasise it? Coming on him would be close enough to coming in him, but it would still be a rewards of sorts. So, coming in or on anything else. And making him watch how he’d displeased his Dom would not only drive the point in, but it would do so humiliatingly. John stalked forward and ripped the blindfold a bit unkindly from the sub’s face before reaching and yanking a few tissues free. "Watch," he commanded, making sure those stormy eyes blinked blearily open before he began.

Sherlock obeyed, trembling as John reached his climax. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Tears tracked his cheek as he withered under his Dom’s gaze. He'd never had a Dom affect him this way. Part of his mind wanted to examine why that was so. But his gaze was locked on his Dom's cock. John hardly blinked as he came into the tissue. A small sob broke from Sherlock. It should have been him receiving that. John turned away to bin the tissue and Sherlock swallowed, wondering if he'd be allowed to try again or if John would decide he wasn't worth it.

John stared down at Sherlock for a long time, considering his options. The sub was still doing what he was supposed to, watching, but that did not negate his prior disobedience. Disobedience John could have helped to prevent had he the right tools from the start. "I’m going to the store. Do not move. I will be right back." The sub’s mouth opened and the Dom glared. "Do not speak. Nod if you understand." The man’s mouth closed and then he nodded as a tear rolled out of the corner of his eye. "Good." John moved to leave again and then paused, looking back at the sub. "Nod if you’ll be okay until I get back." There was a brief pause, and then Sherlock nodded. Satisfied, the Dom didn’t look at the man again as he dressed and walked out the bedroom door, only pausing in the sitting room to grab his wallet and keys before he was out the front door and heading down the street.

Sherlock retreated to his mind palace as the door closed. He examined the ways that John made him feel and it made him even more determined to obey. Prior experiences danced at the corner of his mind, but he tried to ignore them. After a while, he heard John on the stairs and pulled himself out of his own head. He braced himself, expecting John to still be angry. He was shivering, but made no move to cover himself. 

When John walked into the bedroom, he only glanced at Sherlock enough to determine the man was exactly as he'd left him before he dropped the plastic bag on the dresser and walked into the toilet. There was a small stack of cloths under the sink he pulled one out as he ran the hot water, soaking the cloth and ringing it out before taking it back to where the sub was still waiting for him, his release dried on his stomach. The Dom began to clean him with rough but efficient swipes, turning large swaths of the pale skin red with irritation and making his sub tense each time the cloth was lifted and put down again. Eventually, his motions gentled and Sherlock was clean, and then he left the cloth on the sub's belly and let his fingers travel to the fading red marks from his riding crop.

"You were doing so well," he said softly, and the sub tensed as if waiting for further punishment. "And then... Well, I suppose I can, in part, blame myself. I knew you hadn't had a Dom in some time and perhaps I pushed too hard our first time." He pulled the rag away and threw it in the general direction of the door before walking over to the bag and pulling out its single occupant. "As your Dom, it is my job to take care of you, and to help you take care of me. So we shall use this in our scenes until further notice," John informed, holding up the black leather cock ring.

Sherlock nodded; he hadn't been given permission to speak again. He watched his Dom, skin tingling. He felt off balance now, tentative and uncertain, though also relieved he wasn't being rejected outright. That had happened before, after all. 

The sub was still watching him with a tense, wary look, and doubt hit John all at once. Had he really been too hard on Sherlock their first scene? He had wanted the man so bad that he had put off the discussion until after, and now he was wondering how bad he'd fucked up by doing so. The Dom heaved a deep sigh and put the cock ring back in its bag before he climbed onto the open space on the bed and laid on his back, body language nothing but open and inviting. "Come here," he said, voice light. Sherlock gave a small flinch, but otherwise did not move to obey. "Please come here," he repeated even gentler. The sub's gaze flicked up to him from the corner of his eyes and John smiled warmly. That seemed to be all the sub needed before he rolled into the Dom in one fluid movement, curling around him. Satisfied, John began to comb his fingers through the dark curls as the man's head came to a rest on his sternum. "I'm sorry for pushing too hard. We will need to have a very long, very thorough discussion before we scene again. I had expectations for you that I did not share with you, which makes them unfair and unrealistic."

"It is okay. You are my Dom. It is my duty to obey." He spoke quietly to the soft skin of John's stomach. He was warm and the shivers subsided, the fingers in hair relaxing him. 

"No, it isn’t," John corrected, wrapping his hands around the sub’s biceps and tugging him further up his chest so they were face to face. Carefully, he cupped Sherlock’s jaw and made sure those eyes were fixed on his. "Your duty is to trust me. To trust that I will take care of you. That no matter what, I will always have your best interests at heart. I will only ever ask of you what I know you can do. Do you understand?" Sherlock nodded and he smiled warmly at him, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against equally soft lips, letting it linger. "Now, would you like to talk about the scene?" The sub opened his mouth and then snapped it back shut, looking up at him. "You may speak."

"I failed to meet your expectations," Sherlock said softly, lowering his eyes. "But I did enjoy it up until then." He bit his lip. "I did consider ‘yellow’ when you entered me."

John frowned. "Sherlock, what did I tell you before we started?" he asked, voice heavy with disappointment.

Sherlock tried to curl up. "To do so if I was uncomfortable. But it felt good, too and I didn't want to disappoint you." He started shaking a bit again. 

The disappointment from before welled again, this time accompanied by the starting burn of anger, and John’s fingers stilled. The only problem was, he couldn’t tell if the anger was at Sherlock for disappointing him, himself for not setting proper expectations and rules beforehand, or whoever Sherlock had as a Dom from before that taught him these things. When he spoke, he tried to keep the anger from his voice. "Sherlock, we need to talk. I’m fine with doing it right here in bed, and I’m afraid you might drop. But if you prefer we move this to the kitchen or the sitting room, put some space between us, I will understand." Despite his words, the Dom’s arm wrapped around his sub’s waist, making his presence known as he kept the expression on his face stern but earnest.

Sherlock swallowed. "If I am not acceptable, then I will certainly understand," he said. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of John holding him close, certain that he'd already ruined things. _Stupid_ , he thought again, hating the emotions warring inside of him. 

"What?" John exclaimed, caught entirely off-guard. "Why would you say that? Why would you think I didn’t want you?"

Over the last several years, he'd tried to delete most of what had happened with his previous Dom. Not least of which was the fact that Mycroft had to intervene in the end. "I disappointed you. I thought I did not please you."

The Dom's frown deepened. The things Sherlock's words implied set John's teeth on edge. "Yes, you disappointed me, but that only means we should talk about how we can help each other stop it from happening again. Why would that ever mean that I would want to give you up? I've never met anyone who fit me as well as you do. Why would I want to lose that?"

Sherlock shook his head. "You deserve better." All those words that haunted him in the dark crept at the edge of his mind. All the reasons he would never be good enough for anyone, especially not this man. He buried his hands in his hair, trying to ground himself, trying to remember that John _had_ chosen him. And that John was in no way the other.

"Sherlock? Sher-- Shit." Quickly, the ex-soldier rolled the both of them, getting the sub to his back so he could lay out his weight over the taller man, attempting to ground him in the moment. He wrapped his fingers firmly around Sherlock's wrist and pulled them away from the dark curls to pin them to the bed. He leaned down and placed his forehead against the sub's, and began to breathe slow, steady breaths. "Sherlock, stay with me love. Stay here with me. Come back, love."

Sucking in a few quick breaths, Sherlock gradually slowed to match John’s. He opened his eyes after a bit and looked up at the blue ones above him. John was here. John wanted to be here. John wanted to take care of him as a Dom and didn’t really mind that Sherlock had messed up the scene. Those eyes were strong and kind, not hard and hurtful. Taking one more breath, Sherlock leaned up and tentatively kissed him, suddenly aware he was still naked while John was dressed.

John returned the kiss softly and gently as he rolled onto his side and pulled Sherlock close. As the kiss ended slowly, and when they parted, the sub seemed relaxed enough for John to relax as well. "Better?" he asked, and the other man nodded. "Good. Now, we still need to talk, but I promise, it's about how we can stay together. Would you like to get dressed? Or would you prefer I get undressed? Either way, I don't plan on leaving this bed."

Sherlock pondered a moment. "May I get dressed?" John smiled at him and nodded. Sherlock got up and threw on a pair of pyjama bottoms and t-shirt before crawling back into bed. John’s fingers ran through his hair again and he let relief seep into his bones, now that he knew the doctor wanted this to continue. And John’s arms felt so right around him.

"I know I asked you to consider alternate safe words from the basics, but I doubt you've had time. However, I would like ideas, if not choices, by breakfast tomorrow. Understand?" Sherlock frowned, but nodded. "If you need help, let me know," he said with a smile, pressing another kiss to the man's forehead. "Now, I would also like to know why you don't already have personal safewords, we need to discuss limits, hard and soft, and I would really like to sign a contract with you, preferably a longer one than a shorter one." The sub's expression looked suitably concentrative and the Dom felt his chest go warm. The fact that Sherlock was _trying_ this hard, on something so sentimental, was humbling.

How to explain his previous experience? "The last one set the rules for me," he admitted. "He never asked me for personal safewords." He felt John tense. "As for limits, scarring, I suppose, would be a hard limit."

John's blood was running cold. A Dom who never asked for personal safewords was a Dom who took too many subs too frequently to bother to keep track. Or one who shared their sub. Or both. He suddenly remembered the drugs bust his first night with Sherlock. Even when he was still at St Bart's, how often had he seen junkies come in battered and bruised, too high to even speak, let alone safeword? Junkies who had subbed to pay for their drugs, offered their bodies to Doms cruel enough to use them in that state. He wanted to ask, to lay his fears to rest, but now was not the time, and Sherlock hadn't known him long enough to want to share. So for now, he would put that thought aside, and work on the other, frankly just as horrifying, answer.

"Scarring? That's it? Not scat or watersports?" There were those into bodily relievings, and John never shamed them for their kinks, but it was such a small part of the population that actually meeting them was rare. "Spitting, humiliation, cock and ball torture, being tied down, being shared?" Several of what he'd listed were his own hard limits, but what the sub hadn't said was more important than what he had. "Sherlock, ‘scarring’ cannot be it. I know you better than that, even with only meeting you so recently. I need you to be _honest_ with me, Sherlock. This will never work without your absolute honesty. This, more than anything else, is _important_."

Swallowing, Sherlock buried his head against John’s side. "No, not scat or watersports either," he said quietly. "I think we’ve seen that humiliation can be dangerous, but I wouldn’t call it a hard limit. Being tied down might be in that category, too." He didn’t want to admit about being shared, but he doubted John would do such a thing anyway.

"Honesty, Sherlock," John snapped, voice heavy with Command. "You are still leaving three things out."

Sherlock winced. "Please don’t share me," he said in a very small voice. "Spitting might be okay. Cock and balls would be a maybe."

"Thank you, Sherlock," John murmured, voice soft again, renewing the stroking of the sub's hair, keeping him calm. He made his strokes long and deep, sweeping over the skin. Just as his mind began to focus on _how_ Sherlock had requested that he not be shared, how that seemed to enforce the horrifying theory growing in the back of his mind, the doctor's fingers hit over a thin bump. Frowning, he shuffled his fingers back through the thick curls, looking for that bump, and when he found it again, he traced a long, thin scar. "What's this from?" he asked, voice still soft and gentle.

He wanted to lie, to tell the lie he’d always told about it. But Sherlock knew John would see right through it. "My… previous Dom…" he answered quietly. He didn’t remember everything through the haze of drugs, but that one, he very much did.

John went still. And then he had to fight to remain so as anger ran through him, hot and thick. The ex-soldier could tolerate a fair few things under the right circumstances, but there was never a circumstance in which abusing someone who couldn't protect themselves was acceptable. "One of these days, you will tell me everything they did to you, do you understand?" The Dom had never before had to ask the same question so many times to the same person, but nothing about Sherlock was like anyone else. No, that would be too easy.

"Yes, sir," said Sherlock, voice still quiet. He took a breath. "That time… I fell into a mirror. Well, was shoved." _Honesty._ Still very hard to do, even if _he_ couldn’t hurt Sherlock any more. Mycroft had seen to that.

"'That time'?" John echoed, feeling faint. He dropped his forehead over his eyes, keeping out even the bedroom's easy light. "Jesus, I think we need to go to sleep. I don't want to push you into sharing, and that's what I'm going to ask of you if I keep going." Sherlock shifted away from him for a moment and then a blanket was being dragged to cover their bodies, despite the Dom still in his daily clothes. "When I wake up though, I am going to make up a contract, and I'm going to give you a Have/Have Not list. Even if you don't want to go into details about how or why, you _will_ mark off everything you have done, everything you have not done, everything you want to do again, everything you never want to do again, and everything you want to try. I don't care if it takes you a week. If you want to sign a contract with me, you will have that everything on that list marked one way or another, and if you mark anything falsely, I'll shred it and you'll start over. Am I clear?"

"Yes," said Sherlock. He clung to the Dom, hoping that, this time, things wouldn’t go so badly south. And if Mycroft hadn’t already got a hold of John, the sub was certain his brother would soon.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The morning after Sherlock took his flatmate as his Dom, Mycroft had John picked up on his way to city hall. He poured the Dom a drink as he was shown in. He was a sub himself, but had no problems dealing with pushy Doms. John Watson wasn’t that sort. He’d already had the man thoroughly investigated and everything he found told him that this Dom would be very good for Sherlock. However, he still needed to speak with him. There were things he needed to know that he highly doubted his brother had shared.

"You know, I do pay my bill on time. My phone does work," John said by way of greeting as he was shown into Mycroft's office at the Diogenes Club. One of the old men by the door gave him a scandalised look for speaking before the door had been closed, and the soldier shrugged it off. Silence was their rule, not his, and if they had a problem, they could take it up with Mycroft. It's not like he actually wanted to be here.The sub didn't even bother looking at him as he finished signing whatever paperwork lay on his desk. "I do have things to do you know," the Dom said impatiently, mind already compiling what he'd need to get from city hall.

"You wish to sign a contract with my brother," said Mycroft, sitting back and pushing the glass at him. "And I am glad for it. However, you do need to know what has happened to him previously." He saw the look on John’s face. "You know some of it and suspect more."

"What I know probably doesn't scratch the surface," he admitted, nodding his head as he took one of the seats in front of the man's desk. "Normally, I'd say the only person whose business it is to tell me what's happened is Sherlock, but as it seems he is disinclined to do so any time soon, even though it could be detrimental to his mental and physical health, tell me only what I need to know and nothing more."

"The creature that harmed him has been taken care of. When I found my brother, he was being regularly loaned out in exchange for drugs. I believe he was in that situation for about a year, perhaps a bit longer." Mycroft looked at his desk, remembering his self-hatred at not seeing and getting his baby brother out sooner. 

It was almost worse, hearing his fears spoken aloud and confirmed. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, animalistic urges rising and telling him to hunt, to kill. To make the one responsible suffer. Greatly. The ex-soldier took a deep, steadying breath, forcing his fury back under control of his iron will. "Okay," he finally managed. "Anything else I should know right now?"

"You've already seen he is very reticent to speak of things. As his Dom, you will need to observe him as he may not safe word in a misguided attempt at pleasing." It seemed by John's expression that it may have already happened. "Most of all, he needs patience." Mycroft stood and went to a file cabinet and pulled one from the back. "These are some of the records from when he was recovered."

Medical records and photographs. About and of Sherlock. John began to flip through more and more; Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. He felt ill. Suddenly, he returned to the beginning of the folder, meticulously reading through each and every record and carefully scanning every photograph. By the third page, he was feeling faint. By the fifth, there wasn't a warm spot in his body and he couldn't feel his fingers. By the last, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to look at another victim with his sub's general features without the need to either be sick or kill something. "How," he started, voice raspy as he closed the file, "how could you lose track of him so thoroughly that this could happen?"

Mycroft began to pace. "He eluded me," he said softly. "And if you think I sleep easy any night since, you are mistaken." He took a breath. "By the time I realized the true situation, I had to move more carefully than I wished. At the time he fell into this, I was not watching him as closely as I should have and believed he was where his letters said he was."

John closed his eyes and braced his elbows on his knees, dropping his face into his hands. "Fuck," he whispered. "Jesus, fuck." The images from the photographs seemed to be burned onto his eyelids. The things that had been done to his sub. All of the little things that had made him pause since he’d met Sherlock now all clicked into place. The strange flinches and unusual bouts of insecurity. It all made more sense than he wanted them to make. "I... I have to go home. No, I have to go to city hall first. I need to get our paperwork first. I can’t let..." John stood suddenly, cutting himself off. "Goodbye, Mycroft."

Mycroft turned suddenly. "I already have your paperwork." He handed it to John and met his eyes. "I am trusting you, John Watson. I know you have his best interests in mind." 

**.oOo.**

Sherlock woke and found John gone. The bed was still vaguely warm and he bit back the foolish panic that tried to swell up. Taking a few breaths he got up, and was soon in the kitchen sipping tea and trying not to stare at the door. 

John’s feet felt heavy as he climbed the stairs into 221B, the paperwork in his hand just as. No, it wasn’t the paperwork that was heavy, it was the folder detailing his sub’s past. When he stepped through the door, Sherlock blinked at him, eyes wide and his expression shocked. "Sherlock?" Without warning, warm arms enveloped him and then there was friction against his chest as the man slid down his front to kneel at his feet, cheek pressed to John’s thigh. "Well, hello to you too," he said with a smile, sliding his hand under the sub’s chin and tilting it up as the Dom leaned down for a kiss. "Did you sleep well?"

Sherlock nodded, grounding himself in John. He shouldn’t need this as bad as he did. He was the detective, the one that knew what people did before they did it themselves. But even with the issues, last night he’d slept better than he had in a very long time.

"Yes," he said, figuring John wanted him to speak, and was rewarded with a warm smile. There was worry and something else at the edges of the Dom’s eyes though, and Sherlock’s own eyes darted to the paperwork and folder clenched in the tan hand. 

"I brought the list and the contract," John said, pulling them out of the stack and presenting them, though he was sure the other knew exactly what they were before he revealed them. The folder though, that he would make sure avoided Sherlock’s notice at all cost. "This is something from your brother though. If you wanted to look...?" The sub grimaced and turned his nose away like a cat presented with a less than stellar meal. John smiled and tucked the folder in his coat. "All right then. List first, then after I look it over, we can look at a contract." As he passed down the extensive list, he quickly curled his fingers in those dark curls and yanked the sub's head back. "I will punish you for each lie that you put down. Please do not lie because you want attention from me; you already have it. I need you to understand how important this is to me. To us."

Swallowing and licking his lips, Sherlock nodded. "I will be honest," he promised. John relented and he took the list from him, setting it on the table before bringing his Dom a cup of tea. With a deep breath, he sat down and started checking off things. There were many things that were hazy or deleted, but if he even thought he had done them, then checked that he had. It took much of the morning, but finally he brought the list back to where John sat in his chair, watching his face.

The ratio of 'never want to do again' to 'want to try/do again' was disturbingly high. In fact... John began to flip through and he realised sickly that _everything_ was on the 'have tried' list. Even what Sherlock had said was a hard limit. It shouldn’t have been shocking, given what he had seen with Mycroft, but somehow it still was. It was difficult to not clench the papers in his fist, but that would be cruel, as if he were dismissing all the work Sherlock had put into the list. Instead, he held it to the side and patted his lap, waiting.

Wary, Sherlock came and sat on his lap. He rest his head against John’s shoulder. "I don’t really remember all of it. And... if I’m too damaged…"

"Shhh..." John whispered, half turning and curling around the man in his lap. "You're not damaged. Don't think that. Don't ever think that. What you are is mine. And I will never ask you to do something that you don't want to. There are things on this list that you marked as wanting to try, and some you wanted to do again. Even if those become hard limits for you, all you have to do is tell me and I'll respect it. You are the most important person to me, Sherlock. And I will do whatever I can to keep you happy in your place at my side."

"The fact that you are here is enough," said Sherlock. "I haven’t...there’s been no once since. But even that first day, I saw you were different." He looked at John, then slipped out of his lap and onto his knees.

"Yeah?" John asked with a slight grin, glancing at the contract on the side table. They could wait just a little longer with the list out of the way. The Dom relaxed back into his chair and spread his legs, the sub automatically shifting into place between his thighs. "How good are you with your mouth?"

"Very," Sherlock shifted forward, kissing the thick cock where it was still covered. He looked up at his Dom. "Do you want to complete the contract, first?"

"Mmm, only if you want to. I would be more than happy to wait," he murmured, reaching a palm down to stroke his hardening cock. Sherlock's eyes tracked the motion and the Dom smiled, pulling his hand back and watching with pleasure the way his sub's mouth parted.

Sherlock did want. Badly. But, well, wouldn’t this be a test? He licked his lips and looked up at John’s eyes. "May we sign the contract?"

"Of course, love," he replied, guiding the sub's head to rest against his thigh with a hand cupping his jaw. "Shame I want you lucid through this or I'd just have you sit on my cock while we read through the contract." There was a sharp inhale against his thumb as he stroked it over plush lips, and the tip of a pink tongue darted out to brush against the calloused pad. A shiver of want shot through him and he licked his lips, letting his hand linger as he sat back.

The Dom presented him with the paperwork, watching over him. All of it was fairly standard and with this John would be legally responsible for his well being. It was a heady thought. "I haven't chosen new safewords yet."

"Okay. Let's think. Would you prefer to use something you like, or something you don't like for your safewords?"

"I tend to think of chemistry when I am trying to stave off an orgasm." Sherlock watched his face.

"Okay," John said slowly, thinking of what would be enough for the both of them to recognise unfailingly and make them stop. "How well do you know the periodic table?"

Sherlock couldn’t help but scoff. "Perfectly. Perhaps bromine for red?"

"Bromine. Bromine," John repeated, testing the word in his mouth. Vague lessons of chemistry floated to the front of his mind and he smiled as he remembered 'bromine' was a red-coloured element. "Okay, 'bromine' for 'red'." He quickly scribbled the word in on the paper and then began nibbling at the bottom of the pen. "Yellow and green then... Oh! How about 'sulfur' for 'yellow' and 'krypton' for 'green'?"

"Krypton?" Sherlock frowned, trying to see the connection.

"Yeah, like Kryptonite? Shards of Superman's homew--" Sherlock's expression went blank and John raised an eyebrow. "Superman? Comic book character from the '50s?" The sub's expression was still blank and the ex-soldier heaved a hefty, put-upon sigh. "I think we need to have a movie night. Pop culture aside, do 'sulfur' and 'krypton' work or do you have a different preference?"

"That is fine; I can remember those easily. Krypton, sulfur and bromine." He looked at the contract a moment, then signed and handed it back to John. "You are certain you wish to do this with me?"

John set the pen to his line and then looked down at Sherlock, keeping their eyes locked as he signed. "One hundred percent," the Dom replied confidently.

Sherlock smiled and rest his head against John’s thigh again. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_ ," the Dom replied earnestly, stroking his fingers through _his_ sub’s hair. "Will you wear my collar?"

The sub’s mouth went dry. He didn’t think John would offer that so soon, even with the contract. "I would love to," he said honestly. With the collar everyone would know he was a sub, but everyone would also know he was John’s. And _that_ was what was important.

"Good," John replied, voice deep and thick in his throat. He had been afraid Sherlock, the great big _anti-sentiment_ peacock that he was, wouldn’t want to appear tied down to anyone. That even if he signed a contract with John, that it would just be at home, that he wouldn’t want to appear as his sub, especially during cases. "Then I want to go out tonight and get you fitted."

"Now?" Sherlock was well aware of John’s erection still in his trousers. And the thickness of his voice. That, more than anything else, assured him that he’d made the right choice. That John really would take care of him the way a Dom should. That maybe, together, they could undo the damage. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss across the thick bulge.

"I want your mouth on me before I go." The way Sherlock’s pupils dilated made his cock throb and John shifted in his seat, widening his legs and lessening the pressure against his cock. Eager fingers reached for his button and zip and he intercepted them, holding them tight. "I believe I said ‘mouth’."

Sherlock nodded and moved his head in to undo his fly with his teeth. It took some maneuvering, but he got the zip down as well. Then he started mouthing his Dom through his pants.

John hummed and dropped his head back, relishing the damp heat of his sub's mouth through his pants. The slight scrape of teeth had him humming louder and undulating his hips in encouragement. "Do you need your cock ring, Sherlock?" the Dom asked, voice rough and deep with arousal.

"Right now I would simply like to please you, sir," whispered Sherlock. He got the band of John’s pants in his teeth and pulled them up and over, freeing him. Placing his hands behind his back, he started sucking him off with all of his skill.

"Oh, Jesus," John gasped as his cock was engulfed in a wet heat, his hands diving into the thick curls and bucking into his sub's mouth. Sherlock hummed and rode the movement easily, deep-throating him a second later. The Dom almost came out of surprise right then, but he pulled the sub's head away before easing himself back in, taking the man's mouth slower, making the sensations linger. "C'mon, love. Show me how clever you can be with that tongue."

Sherlock obeyed, loving the way this felt. He was hard, but nowhere near completion. He used his tongue and his lips, pulling little gasps of pleasure from his Dom. He hummed his own delight, loving that he could please like this. He looked up at John through lowered lashes, seeing his eyes grow darker.

"Swallow what you can. Don't worry about what slips out," John warned, pulling Sherlock's head back far enough to keep just the head of the Dom's cock in his sub's mouth. "Wrap your lips around me," he instructed thickly, wrapping his own fingers around his cock and stroking what little space there was between his pelvis and that mouth. "Tight as you can, love." Sherlock's mouth tightened right beyond the glans, cheeks hollowing so suddenly that John groaned and came, strokes on his cock tight and vigorous to ride him through the pleasure.

Sherlock swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste, eyes falling shut. A bit dribbled on his lip as John pulled away and he looked up at him, seeing by his eyes just how much he was enjoying the view. For the first time in a very long time, Sherlock could honestly say he was happy.

**.oOo.**

The sub measuring Sherlock’s neck was nothing but respectful, careful to not let their skin touch, wielding his measuring tape with ease. Even still, every time he brought his hands back up from writing down whatever measurement he needed, John tensed, feeling levels of possessiveness that were, perhaps, a bit not good. But he didn’t really care. Sherlock was his now, and he was never letting him go, especially not to someone else.

Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror when it was done. The black leather stood out against his pale throat. It had a gold buckle with a small dog tag with John’s name on it hanging from a standard D-ring. It made him feel safe. And loved. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and looked at his Dom for approval.

"So fucking gorgeous," John whispered, the store sub bowing his head respectfully as he stepped back while John hooked a finger in his own sub’s D-ring and tugged. "So fucking gorgeous and so fucking mine," he growled, pulling Sherlock down for a violent kiss. The part of him that dominated, that protected and cared for, crowed with the victory of a successful capture and it turned the kiss even more animalistic; hungrier. When he finally broke away, Sherlock was flushed and panting and John’s finger tightened. "I would take you to your knees right now, but then I’d get a public exposure ASBO because there’s no way that wouldn’t end with my cock in your mouth."

Sherlock let his hand brush against the front of his jeans. "Perhaps we should hurry home."

Just then his mobile alerted. Without looking at John, he stepped back and pulled it out. "Case."

The sub took two long steps towards the door and then froze, shoulders tightening and bunching up to protect the back of his neck. He expected punishment then. John simply waited, and after a moment Sherlock's head turned tight on his shoulders to look at him. Smiling gently, he beckoned the man to come back and watched his sub slink back to him like his tail was tucked between his legs, not quite making eye contact. As soon as Sherlock was in range, John reached out and wrapped first one arm, and then the other, around the narrow waist, linking his fingers together at the dip of his spine. His sub stood there tensely, eyes fixed somewhere over his Dom's shoulder. When a minute passed and Sherlock had yet to relax, John stood on his tiptoes, tipped up his chin, and set his teeth to the skin above his collar, ignoring the flinch it caused. For endless minutes, that was all he did, softly bit and licked the pale neck as he waited for the eventual dissipation of tension.

Sherlock slowly relaxed under the gentle licks and bites. "I apologize," he said carefully, tension still frizzing at the edges. John wasn’t going to hurt him. John wanted to be part of his life, not control it. Taking a breath, he angled his neck a little more in a gesture of trust and submission.

"Good boy," John murmured, sucking on the exposed skin lightly. "Now, I do want to lay down some rules for cases." Sherlock bristled, tensing right back up and the Dom quickly shushed him. "Hear me out. There’s nothing about you that I would change. But I also know you. And I know how well a case will take over everything. I just need you to remember it’s not just you any more. It’s _us_. Right?" 

With narrowed eyes, the detective slowly nodded, but he remained tense. 

"Okay. As your Dom, and your doctor, your wellbeing is one of the most important things to me. So here are the rules: one, you do not leave me behind; two, you will eat at least once a day and you will drink at least 32oz of water; and three, if I think you need to be taken down, I will do it." 

Sherlock’s frown was only deepening, and John struggled to find the way to explain without further offending a sub that, for all they’d been through, still wasn’t as familiar with him as most other subs were by the time they agreed to a collar. "I will do everything I can to make sure that, if I have to do any of that, it will happen in private, behind closed doors. I have no desire to make you appear any less than you are. In fact, I don’t think they treat you the way you should be treated as it is. I would never do anything to undermine that." 

Sherlock was a bit looser now, his expression less stern, and John wondered if he’d managed to say it right. Talking about... emotions in general had never been a strong point of his. 

"Do you trust me?"

Sherlock swallowed hard. "I trust you," he said, meeting John’s eyes. He pulled his scarf from his pocket and weighed it in his hands. If he wore it, it would cover the collar. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he was a bit afraid of what the Yard would think if they saw it. On the other hand, it was John’s mark and he had pledged himself to John, as John had pledged himself to Sherlock. 

"What do you wish me to do?" he asked instead, still holding the scarf in one hand and his mobile in the other.

John smiled at him, cupping the backs of Sherlock’s hands. "I want you to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Yes, I would love for all of Scotland Yard to know that you belong to me. But that is your prerogative if you wish to share that information. Not mine. If you want to keep it hidden for now, I’ll support it. If you want to reveal it, I’ll support it. For now..." The doctor gently slid the scarf free and looped it up and over his sub’s head and neck. "Bundle yourself against the cold. When we arrive at the crime scene, whether you remove your scarf or keep it on is entirely your decision, and I will uphold it as your Dom and your friend. _Whatever you need,_ Sherlock, is mine to provide."

Sherlock gave him a smile, leaning down to take a brief kiss before they headed out. He slid into his more usual headspace as they arrived at the crime scene, smoothly following Lestrade. After that, it was easy to fall into the rhythm of deduction, Lestrade scribbling notes, John by his side. By the time he stood again his mind was running faster than usual. "So this sub was sold," he said, keeping his voice steady. He pointed at a mark on the woman’s arm. "Slavery ring. She tried to run."

John bent to look at the mark, donning surgical gloves before running his fingers over the apparent brand on the woman’s forearm. "This is too clean. Even when a sub receives a brand during a scene, they can’t help but jump. It creates a faint second brand. A shadow. This, there’s nothing. She was unconscious when she received this." The sub’s sleeve was pushed up to nearly her elbow, and instinct drove John to push it up a little bit more. "Needle marks. Too many to be consensual." He picked up the other arm, shoving that sleeve up as well, revealing a just as bruised, just as marked, inner elbow. "She would have been drugged to stay compliant. She was probably higher than a kite when whoever did this put the brand to her arm." He looked over his shoulder at his own sub, searching for consensus, only to shoot to his feet at the unnatural paleness on the genius’s face. "Sherlock, what’s wrong?"

Sherlock blinked a few times and firmly told his transport it was foolish to feel faint. "Nothing at all." He swallowed. "You are fairly correct. The cause of death is most likely a combination of an air embolism and an overdose." Memories crowded in, clouding his vision. _Someone holding his arm. "This'll feel good, promise."_ He shoved the memories aside. "Possibly she was injected with other drugs as well, but toxicology can determine that." _Waking up in strange places. Violence. Pain._ To Sherlock’s surprise, he found his stomach roiling. "Excuse me," he said quietly, then turned on his heel, barely making it into the alley before he was throwing up.

Lestrade’s expression turned from his crime scene-standard expression of professional distance to one of surprise and concern, and immediately started after Sherlock. Possessive, protective urges rising sharply, John quickly intercepted him with a hand on his chest. "I’ll check on him." The Dom jogged around the corner and found his sub bent double, forearm pressed to the wall and forehead pressed against forearm. Quickly, the doctor scanned the alley and then tugged the detective further in and behind a skip. As soon as they were out of view, he grabbed the back of Sherlock’s neck tightly and shoved down until the man’s knees buckled, pressing his sub’s face to his stomach. "I didn’t think I’d have to use my rules so soon," he tried to joke weakly, tightening his grip, trying to ground Sherlock in the here and now. The genius may have been an expert at hiding or suppressing his emotions, but maybe being faced with a victim that could have just as easily been him was a little more he could handle, especially after the emotional upheaval of being collared.

Sherlock gulped in air, the smell of John. The hard street below his knees. Slowly, he wiped his mouth. "I'm fine," he repeated, muffled by John's shirt. 

"No, you’re not," the doctor sighed, crouching down to meet him at eye level. He cupped the man’s jaw in his palms, and Sherlock’s eyes dropped. "Please look at me," John said, voice soft but firm. After a moment, metal-grey eyes flicked up to his and then dropped again. "Sherlock." The eyes flicked up again, but this time, they stayed. "Good boy," he praised with a smile. "I know better than to ask you drop this case. All I can ask is that you come to me whenever something triggers you. Safeword at the crime scene, or when we’re doing a break-and-enter. Slip it into a sentence. I don’t care. But I’m not a mind-reader. Until you tell me everything, I might need help understanding that something has upset you. Okay?"

Sherlock swallowed the bile. "Okay," he said meeting John's eyes. "But if I can stop this from happening to other people..." He squeezed John's arm. "I have done everything I can to delete what happened to me. But it's still there. It's in the darkness." He dropped his eyes again, shivering. There was a noise and he froze. 

"Everything all right?" Lestrade's voice. Concerned, but keeping back. 

"Everything’s fine!" John called back, voice tight. Subconsciously, his body tensed, wary of another Dom coming between him and his sub. His vulnerable sub. A hand settled tentatively on the outside of his thigh and he looked down to find Sherlock looking up at him. "I need you to be completely honest with me right now: are you all right to continue with this crime scene? Or do you need to call this a ‘four’ and just go home?"

Sherlock swallowed. "I believe it would be best if I were to go home. But I do want to pursue this case." He looked up and met John's eyes, drawing strength from him. "Even if it does prove costly." He wondered how John would handle the nightmares that would inevitably come tonight.

The doctor nodded, drawing his fingers up and through the dark curls, stroking his sub’s head, keeping him calm. "That’s fine. Do you need me to take any pictures or do you have what you need on your phone already?"

"I believe I have what I need. Anything else I can get from Molly in the morning." He leaned into the touch. 

"Okay then. Up you get," he murmured, pressing both hands up under his sub’s arms and helping him to his feet. As he stood, it was like his armour grew back into place, his chin going up and his shoulders drawing back. He moved to turn away almost immediately and John quickly grabbed him by his coat, turning him back around. "Wait, you git. Your scarf’s all rucked up. Let me fix it real quick."

Sherlock was grateful, though if anyone from the Yard saw his collar, he would rather it was Lestrade. Satisfied, John stepped back so the sub could lead. 

Greg watched as they came out, worry still in his eyes. "I'll see you two tomorrow," he said before either of them could give excuses. "Thank you, John."

"Thank _you_ , Greg," John murmured in reply, nodding as they passed by on their way back to the main street. The rest of the Yard eyed them curiously as they passed, but with the sub’s confident posture and the soldier’s warning glare, none of them spoke up. After a cab had been flagged with the typical magic wave of an arm and they’d slid into their seats, they were only a block away before Sherlock sagged into him. Instantly, John was sliding a hand up his sub’s back and under his scarf, gripping the back of his neck tightly, and the man only relaxed further under the slow stroking of his thumb.

Sherlock kept his silence as they headed across town to home. He stayed close to John as they headed upstairs. He slipped off his scarf. "I will probably have nightmares tonight," he admitted. "You may wish to sleep apart."

John raised an incredulous eyebrow at his sub. "Not a chance, love. It’s not like I don’t have PTSD too. I know how this works." He looped a finger through the newly-revealed D-ring, feeling an unstoppable grin spread across his face at the sight of his collar around his sub’s neck. Carefully, John tugged the man forward and wrapped is other arm around his waist. "I’ll do what you want when you wake up, but I’m staying at your side until then." He leaned up on his tiptoes to lean his forehead against Sherlock’s, rubbing their noses together. "Now go brush your teeth. I want to kiss you, but I’m not going to until you do."

Sherlock nodded and he hung up his coat to do so. In the toilet, he watched himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, seeing the collar against his skin. He was John's. The soldier was still in the front room, so he changed into a loose shirt that he knew set off his eyes and went back to join him, kneeling by his chair. The overwhelming desire to please washed over him again. 

"Come over to the couch, love," John directed, moving over to the larger piece of furniture. Sherlock moved to stand and the Dom waggled his finger. "Did I say to stand?" The sub opened his mouth, and then closed it, smiling as he shook his head, crawling over sensually on his hands and knees. John sat back on the couch and patted the cushion at his side. When the man crawled up next to him, he guided the head of dark curls down to his thigh to better run his fingers through his sub’s hair.

Sighing softly, Sherlock closed his eyes, letting John take the tension and worry away. Sherlock rubbed his head against his thigh, listening to the soft jangle of the tag, and taking reassurance from it. He wished he could tell John just how important he meant to him, no matter how little time they’d had together, but the very fact that he was wearing the collar stood for that. He shifted a bit more and his eyes fell on the crook of his own elbow. Cautiously, he reached out to rub his thumb along the skin, though there were no marks anymore.

John noticed the direction of Sherlock’s thoughts and he slowed his strokes through the man’s hair, made them firmer, scraping his fingernails over his sub’s scalp. Eventually, the hand that had been rubbing at what may have once been a needle-marked inner-elbow pulled away and Sherlock rolled over, nuzzling at John’s hip. "Did you want to talk about it?"

"I don’t remember a lot of it," he said again. "Whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably worse. I know I spent at least a month in the hospital after. I... think maybe they would have killed me eventually." It was a conclusion he’d come to a while ago, but that made it no less true. "I don’t think I ever even tried to run."

The now-familiar anger rose hot and thick and John had to bite his tongue. "How did it all start?" he finally asked, voice light as he could make it and curious.

"I’d stopped attending uni, met someone. He seemed nice enough at first. Most Dom’s couldn’t handle me, but he seemed to be able to." Sherlock sighed. "He introduced me to the drugs after a few weeks. It seemed like the only thing that would calm my mind. But then I started missing pieces of time, woke up with marks. He started asking me to send letters to Mycroft to let him know I was fine, and I went along with it. When I was mostly lucid, he had ways of making me... well, I always felt like being with him was my choice." Sherlock’s voice had gone quiet. "Later on, of course, there was the threat of violence if I tried to get away."

"You know I would never do anything like that to you, don't you?" John asked, looking down at the lanky man nearly curled in his lap. Sherlock rolled onto his back to turn and look up at him. John tried to smile reassuringly, but it most likely came out as a tight grimace. There was a pregnant pause, after which the sub's hand rose and then stopped, unsure in mid-air. When John gave a small, encouraging hum, it continued on its path, curling jerkily around the back of his neck. The touch was relaxing, and this time, when he smiled, it was soft and warm and loving, and Sherlock gave a watery one in return as slim fingers played with the short strands of hair at his nape. After a moment, the feather-light touch turned into four, distinct, barely-there points of pressure, and the expression on his sub's face was one of hidden hope. Smile brightening, John followed the guiding ( _questioning_ ) fingers on the back of his neck and bent over Sherlock's head to press their lips together in an undemanding kiss.

Sherlock sighed against him. He opened his mouth a bit more to John, offering, and was rewarded by the warm slide of tongue along his lips. Being with John felt like no one else, and he had no words to express it. 

As the kiss finally gentled and John pulled away just enough to look his sub in the face, he found Sherlock’s face slack and his eyes closed, expression cleared. He smiled and pressed a kiss to the man’s head. "Will you sleep with me tonight and start fresh on this case tomorrow?"

Sherlock nodded, finally relaxed. "I would like that." This felt better than anything else ever had. And he could end someone else's suffering. 

"Good. Then up with you." He jostled his knee and received a one-eyed glare in return. Huffing out a quiet laugh, he continued with more temptation, "We’re going to turn in early and that way you can get an early start, yeah?"

Grumbling, Sherlock rolled to his feet and padded into the bedroom.

He woke sometime in the wee hours. The nightmares hadn’t come, but he was restless. He’d never slept much anyway. John was snoring lightly, so he got to his feet and went back to the front room. He went to his violin and carefully picked it up. He couldn't express in words, but maybe in music. 

The sweet, slow sound of a violin pulled John from his sleep and he blinked blearily around the still-dark room and the clock on the bed-side table telling him it was just past two in the morning. On heavy feet, he found his way into the sitting room, the moonlight from the window silhouetting his sub’s long, swaying form. Silently, he sat in his own chair to watch and listen, and without missing a bow stroke or a fingering, Sherlock turned and moved over to him, kneeling with his back to John between his Dom’s feet. His torso was just tall enough, or perhaps his arm angled just right, so that his swinging elbow did not once impact with the inside of the doctor’s thigh, and for a long time, they simply sat together, listening to Sherlock’s music.

Sherlock would not admit there was tears in his eyes when he finally came to an end. He reverently set his violin in his own chair and then leaned back to rest his head against John's thigh. Sturdy fingers ran through his hair. He was certain he would never get tired of the sensation. Between the music and the touch, he knew things were just as they should be. Now he just needed to get on this case.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kat AN: I forgot to post this yesterday I'm so sorry. -,-U

The first few days after the initial crime scene weren't as bad on Sherlock as that initial slap in the face, but less than a week in, they were investigating an abandoned warehouse when John, a room away, heard his sub call out to him in an unfamiliar, faint voice. The ex-soldier’s gun was in his hand in the blink of an eye as he jogged out into the hall. and then tight against the wall before he let his gun lead him into the next room. As soon as he was in though, he dropped the weapon to the side at the sight that greeted him.

In one of the corners in a massive nest of ratty, stained mattresses and blankets, lay a grouping of desiccated bodies. Each wore a collar around their throat, metal, and each collar was attached to a chain that was, in turn, attached to the wall. When the doctor stepped closer, he realised the streaks on the collars were blood, and more than one weathered finger was missing a nail, as if the subs had tried to claw their way out. All his observations led him to a conclusion that only served to make him ill: these subs had been part of the slavery ring, and they'd either been left here to die, or had been forgotten. He couldn't tell what was worse. In front of the pile stood Sherlock, face drained and swaying on his feet.

Sherlock was struggling with memories and emotions. He’d seen plenty of violent death in his investigation of crime, but this… this was different. 

Then John was there, leading him out of the room, talking softly to him though he could barely understand the words. Suddenly, they were outside and John was calming him, soothing him. He didn’t remember going to his knees, but John’s fingers were in his hair. He took one deep breath, then another.

As Sherlock wrapped his arms around his legs, taking deep breaths against his hip, John pulled out his mobile and managed to awkwardly type out a message to Lestrade. When the man arrived, thankfully alone, half an hour later, he stopped dead at the sight of Sherlock practically wrapped around John’s legs.

"What the hell?" Greg exclaimed. He knew John was a Dom, and that Sherlock was a sub, but the consulting detective hadn't taken a Dom in the entire time he'd known him. Not to mention the fact that the pair had met less than two weeks ago. 

John looked over at the DI, expression considering, calculating. He curled his fingers in the Sherlock’s scarf with one hand as the other cupped his sub’s jaw and tilted the kneeling man’s face to him. The Dom tugged lightly at the dark blue fabric, and after a moment and a nervous lick of his lips, Sherlock nodded. Feeling oddly relieved, John pulled up the scarf just enough to reveal a black collar around the pale neck.

Sherlock felt the exposure and tensed for a moment, then relaxed. He turned to face Lestrade. "This case is very similar to something that happened to me. You'll find a number of deceased subs inside." Lestrade started to open his mouth and Sherlock cut him off. "I am not going to recuse myself."

The detective looked over at him, a questioning, doubtful look on his face, and opened his mouth, presumably to argue. John shook his head and ran his fingers through his sub’s hair. "This is his choice. I may be his Dom, but I won’t control him in his Work." Greg looked around, expression a mix of exasperated and lost, but the doctor ignored him in preference of fixing Sherlock’s scarf back over his collar, hiding it from view. The brief glimpse of that dark leather was enough to make him twitch in his pants, but he ignored it, forced it away. He was not going to get relief or rest until this case was over.

Sherlock watched Lestrade head into the building. A minute later, cursing told him Lestrade had found the victims. "Let's go home," he said quietly, knowing he'd be unable to focus. 

John kept his sub close by, an arm around his waist or a hand on the back of his neck all the way back home, and even while he fixed them tea. When he walked back into the sitting room, Sherlock didn’t even bother with the pretense of sitting alone: he was kneeling against John’s chair before the Dom had even sat down. "Face me," the doctor instructed, and the man shuffled to do as commanded. He looked him in the eye, holding their gazes. "I want you to think about the room. Delete the bodies if you have, but think only of the room, not them. Talk me through the clues."

Nodding, Sherlock brought the room up in his mind. Slowly, he started going through his observations aloud, so very glad John was here. His voice grew stronger as he focused his mind only on the telling details, until finally he could take a deep breath and a sip of his tea. 

John had to hide his smile at the way Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the cold tea he’d just ingested. The Dom ran his fingers once through the curls before standing to put the kettle back on and prepare two new cuppas before coming back as he waited for the whistle, leaning his hips against his chair to resume petting his sub. "So, are they keeping the subs in warehouses between sales?"

"Yes. They are shipping the subs overseas, probably in an attempt to avoid scrutiny. We need to determine the next shipment and intercept."

"All right. How many more warehouses are left to break into? Or is all the information compiled and just waiting for that gorgeous mind of yours to figure it all out?" The kettle whistled angrily and he ducked away long enough to pour the water and bring them both their mugs, handing the sub his as he sat back in his chair, careful not to spill any as he blew on the hot liquid.

"I believe we have enough. We should move soon." Sherlock kissed John’s knee and leaned against him, knowing that soon enough it would be over.

**.oOo.**

John shouldn't have been surprised. He was. But really, how often does one meet the friend of your beloved sub's ex-Dom? A Dom that used to abuse and torment and rape said beloved sub? A friend that used to help with said activities? Apparently, at least once. Because the ring leader they'd been breaking down over the last few days was standing at the helm of the cargo ship they'd snuck onto, grinning at Sherlock like there was no tomorrow, and Sherlock was staring back, face paler than the freshly-fallen snow.

"Kristof," Sherlock whispered. "It’s over and done with," he said, half to the man and half to himself. 

"I remember you," Kristof sneered, he stepped closer to the sub. "You think you’re better than a Dom? Special? You're still just a sub. Kneel," Commanded Kristof. Sherlock wobbled and start to slip to his knees. He wanted to fight it, but the rest of his brain expected only violence if he disobeyed. Loathing roiled in his stomach.

"Sherlock!" John snapped, Command heavy in his voice, heavier than the stranger's. His sub’s eyes snapped to him, wide and scared, and the expression had the ex-soldier pulling his gun free and levelling it at the other Dom. "Keep talking to him like that, and there won't be anything left for the police to arrest. Understand?"

Kristof chuckled. "Oh, you’re his Dom now? Do you know what he’s done?" The Dom started to explain, in graphic detail, some of the worst things the consulting detective had done while he'd been the dealer's sub. Sherlock shook, nauseous all over again, memories he thought he’d deleted rising up in his mind.

The ex-soldier fired without a second thought, his bullet piercing through the other Dom's arm. It was unfortunate Sherlock still needed answers from the man, or else John would have put the bullet through his forehead. He stalked forward, gun still raised just in case the slaver got any ideas, but when he rounded the short wall the gigantic wheel was attached to, the man was still howling and writhing in agony. "Sherlock!" John called, ripping off the man's jacket to use to put pressure on the wound. When he didn't hear the sound of his sub moving, he leaned back around the corner and found the man swaying dangerously in place. "Sherlock, come here!" he Commanded.

Sherlock snapped into focus. He hurried to John's side to help him. Focusing, only on the moment, not the man underneath him. 

"I’ll take care of his wound, but you need to hurry up and ask him whatever you need to ask him," John instructed firmly. "Get your answers before I shoot him somewhere more fatal."

Nodding, Sherlock grabbed the man's chin, asking him questions as coldly as he could. He soon had what he needed, with a bit of pressure from John, and stood back, quickly texting Lestrade, then after a moment, his brother. This could easily turn into an international incident. 

John was still debating on letting the man bleed out when NSY showed up and took the decision out of his hands. Thankfully, Mycroft, and Anthea, showed up in time to prevent the Yarders from taking John's gun from his as well. The ex-soldier was pretty sure it wasn't anywhere near legal, but if Sherlock had any more insane (or criminal) Doms hiding away out there, he didn't want to go through the hassle of getting a new gun. Lestrade finally waved them away with promises of statements later, and it was with a sigh of relief that they finally slid into the heated, leather interior of one of the British Government's cars. When his sub sagged against him, curled into a shaking ball, it was all the Dom could do to not turn right back around and go back to put a bullet through the slaver's forehead.

"You deserve better than me," said Sherlock softly. He wanted to forget, but the memories clouded in close, threatening to smother him. He was so glad John was here, glad he had a good Dom. This Dom would get him through this night, and all the nights after.

"Don't say that, love," John murmured, stroking his fingers through his sub's hair. "If anything, I don't deserve you. But you know what?" He turned on his seat, keeping one foot on the floor and stretching the other out along the seat and tugging Sherlock further between his legs. "We are perfect for each other. We are our perfect balance."

Sherlock leaned heavily against him. "You wished to kill him." It wasn’t a question.

"Absolutely," John replied with conviction. "I've never been particularly keen on torture, but for him, and your previous Dom, and anyone else who ever treated you like that, I think I'd make an exception."

"I know you would." Sherlock buried himself against John, lapsing into a few minutes of silence. "I love you," he said, very quietly.

John's throat went dry at the confession. It had been the first time it had been spoken allowed their relationship, but he knew it had been present all along. "I love you too," he rasped, wrapping his arms around Sherlock as tight as he could, trying to convey the emotion through his hold.

**THREE WEEKS LATER**

_Come at once, if convenient. -SH_

_If inconvenient, come anyway. -SH_

John smiled at the familiar, ritual text as he stepped out of the surgery. Sherlock was lucky his shift was just ending anyway, and the doctor quickly (or as quickly as he was able), flagged down a cab and recited the address in the third text. When he finally arrived, he felt so eager to see his beloved sub that he nearly flung himself from the cab and jogged up the stairs to the flat the murder had apparently occurred at. When he walked in the room, he was greeted by the rather curious sight of every Yarder in the room, with the exception of Greg, staring at Sherlock with wide eyes and dropped mouths. And when John saw the direction of their stares, he couldn't help the grin on his face as warmth bloomed in his chest.

Sherlock was well aware of the attention. He’d been nervous at first, but decided that whatever the reaction, it was more than John deserved. The startled sounds as he’d removed his scarf nearly made him flush as he finished texting John and crouched next to the body. Lestrade had crouched opposite of him for a moment, checking on _him_ , Sherlock knew, more than the body. Seeing that Sherlock was perfectly all right, he’d given a warm smile and stood again, ready to take notes.

Now, John was here and he felt grounded as he reeled off his deductions, his Dom by his side. Finally he finished and stood, looking to see John’s reaction.

Completely unmindful that they were at a crime scene, or rather, not particularly caring, John hooked his finger in the D-ring of his sub’s collar, possibly his favourite place to grab onto, and tugged him down into a possessive kiss. There was a choked sound from someone behind Sherlock, something that the Dom firmly ignored. When he finally released that too-tempting mouth, he refused to release the collar. "Your collar is on display," he said unnecessarily, but his voice was thick with emotion, possessiveness prime among them.

"It is. But I am yours," said Sherlock. His voice was nearly a growl. He wanted John. Now. 

Lestrade coughed. "If we need anything else, we'll call."

John turned towards the other Dom and raised his eyebrow, asking without words ‘Do you really think that’s wise?’. Greg coughed again. "I’ll text," he corrected himself. The ex-soldier nodded and turned away, finally releasing the gold D-ring. For a brief moment, he considered a leash, and then quickly dismissed it. It was entirely impractical while they were on cases, but perhaps while they were at home, they could experiment... 

Sherlock followed John out of the crime scene. He raised his hand to call a cab. "Can you stop and get milk? I’ll meet you back at Baker Street." He had a few ideas, but he wanted to get home before John did.

"Milk? Now?" John asked incredulously as the cab pulled up and Sherlock opened the door. "I am _this close_ to fucking you so hard that you wouldn't be able to investigate this case if you wanted to, and you're worried about the _milk_?"

Sherlock met his eyes. "Trust me in this."

John narrowed his eyes and then sighed. "Okay. Get in." He gestured Sherlock into the vehicle and then ducked his head in after him. "If I find out you detoured me so you could do something 'real quick' for this case, I'm going to be furious. Understand?"

"Completely."

As soon as Sherlock got back to the flat, he stripped, freshened up a bit, collected John’s riding crop from his room, and knelt by his Dom's chair with his head bowed, the collar’s tags standing out against his pale skin. He waited tensely for John’s feet on the stairs.

The Dom's good mood had been slightly soiled by the row he'd gotten into with the chip and pin machine (as usual), but as soon as he walked in the door and laid eyes on his sub, naked and kneeling with John's riding crop held aloft across his palms, it was all swept away in an unexpected flood of arousal. He let the sight soak in for a moment before he headed into the kitchen to put away the milk. When he came back out, however, he headed straight for his sub, lowering himself into his chair and sliding his fingers through dark curls, ignoring the riding crop for the moment. "I want you to very carefully consider my next question. I want you to actually _think_ about the slavery ring case. Are you fully ready for this?"

Sherlock thought a moment, letting John know he was taking this seriously, then nodded. "Yes, sir, I am." He wanted this. Badly. Wanted John to take all the broken bits and put him back together the way a good Dom could.

"Good boy," he murmured, finally taking the leather from fingers paled by the long-held position. "This won't be that different from our first time," he warned, running a loving hand over the long-familiar tool. "I haven't done any shopping yet because I wanted to do it with you." He cocked his head to the side, thinking as he resumed petting his sub. "Run upstairs and fetch the black duffel from the back of my wardrobe."

Quickly on his feet, Sherlock darted upstairs, quickly returning with the duffle. He lay it in John’s lap and resumed his position by his feet, tingling with excitement.

"This is just generic stuff I have leftover, mind you," the Dom said as he unzipped the shuffle and began shuffling around. "Nothing custom, but we'll go shopping together as soon as we can." He pulled out a coil of rope, a single, half-melted black candle, and a book of matches. "Clear off the table," he directed, nodding at the low table behind his sub.

Sherlock hurried to obey, but he made sure to actually put things away neatly, knowing that was what John preferred. Finally he resumed his position, waiting.

"On your back, on the table," he said, a bit of Command slipping into his voice as he stood and his sub scrambled to do as bid. When Sherlock was settled, John moved around the table, positioning the pale limbs and carefully tying them to the table legs. When he was finished, he stepped back, surveying his work, and then took a step forward to double-check the tension of the smooth ropes against the delicate skin. "Status?" he inquired.

"Krypton," said Sherlock without hesitation. His pale eyes were no doubt blown dark as they watched his Dom, cock half full already. He wondered if John would remember the cock ring or make him ask for it. He didn’t want to disappoint him again.

John eyed the way his sub's cock swelled beneath his gaze, the way a flush spread over his cheeks and down his neck, the way his eyes dilated. He stroked a hand down the man's body, from shoulder to ankle, bypassing the beautiful, slender cock, and there was a restrained groan from the head of the table. "One moment," he said, turning on his heel and walking into their room. A moment later, he was walking out with Sherlock's cock ring, In seconds, he had wrapped the leather under his sub's balls and around his cock, snapping it tightly into place. Once finished, he bent over and pressed a soft kiss to the slit, smiling at the cry the action caused. "Last thing," he murmured, returning to his bag and pulling out a strip of black silk before he tied it over Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock tensed, then forced himself to relax. John would take care of him. He felt John's hands hover over him. "Krypton," he said again, licking his lips. 

"Good boy," John praised. "I'm proud of you for taking the initiative." He rewarded his sub with a slow kiss that had the man straining up for more. Humming with the low burn of pleasure and satisfaction, John stepped back and broke of a match, striking it on the little book and lighting the candle. 

"I want to warn you, black wax tends to burn hotter than other colours, so I’ll hold this a bit further away than I normally would." Sherlock opened his mouth, as if to speak and John held the candle away from his sub as he bent down to put his lips against the man’s ear. "I hope you can be a good boy and handle it for me, though. The thought of how well this will look on your skin makes me want to come in my pants."

He didn’t give the man time to respond before he righted himself and let the first drip of wax drop to the centre of Sherlock’s sternum. Red blossomed across the pale skin below the black splash and the heat made his sub arch and writhe. Smiling, John tipped the candle again, the next splash landing right over a nipple. Sherlock cried out and the Dom ran a soothing thumb over the other nipple, already feeling himself sinking into Domspace. This was right where he belonged, standing over his sub and bring him exquisite pain and pleasure. He tipped the candle again.

Sherlock moaned, letting the pleasure take him, sinking slowly. Another drip fell to his skin and his moan was longer, deeper. Everything narrowed to the moment. He could feel the Dom over him, though he limited his touches. 

John kept the drops of wax varied in frequency of size, waiting a long time before only doling out a tiny drop, and waiting short bursts for large dollops. It kept his blindfolded sub on his toes, so to speak, and each cry from that sweet mouth made the Dom's cock throb. He moved down the pale body, splashing hot wax over hip bones and tender inner thighs and feet The bound cock he saved for last.

Crying out, Sherlock arched and writhed as the wax hit his cock, so glad for the cock ring around his aching member. "Please," he begged, unable to articulate. 

"Not yet, love," he murmured, dripping wax across sensitive testicles. "We are nowhere near done." He set down the candle, now a mere stub, and kept his footsteps silent as he moved to the kitchen. He had put a butter knife in the freezer weeks ago, waiting for this very moment, and a shiver of anticipation shot down his spine as he retrieved it. Perhaps it was something they should work up to, considering his sub's past, but it hadn't been marked a 'no', and he would see how things went. 

Sherlock groaned as the cold, dull blade dragged across his skin. His brain tried to pull him out of the comfort of subspace, but he told it to behave. He focused on the sensation, knowing his doctor Dom wouldn't really harm him. 

The first few lines the Dom made sure to draw over relatively safe areas--over the curve of a shoulder, along Sherlock’s side, just under a nipple--to make sure there would be no objections. When his sub simply groaned and arched into the cutting chill, John could only smile and move it to more daring places. He began to create little red lines with hard presses of the blunt side, smoothly navigating the pale skin between splotches of dried black wax. The first time he put the knife to Sherlock’s face, the man sucked in a breath, but said nothing, though his body went tight. John moved the blade away, tracing a light line over the jugular before moving back down, carefully scraping the serrated edge over the one nipple not covered in wax. His sub gasped, hips arching up and his cock twitched within it’s restraint. The doctor just smiled and pressed the blunt side to the tender flesh of a pale inner thigh.

It was exquisite. His mind was incapable of further verbiage than that. It made him want to spread himself wider for his John, but of course he was a bound. He’d nearly ‘yellow’ed when it touched his face, but the Dom had pulled it away before it could. It helped to know the scrapes marks weren’t going to be permanent; no doubt John could see the scars with his body on display like this. And he _liked_ displaying himself like this, knew that he was pleasing his Dom. The knife drew further up his thigh and he groaned again, cock twitching and leaking with need.

As the blade continued, almost absently, John began to ponder how far he wanted to take orgasm denial. In fact... It had been a long time... "I need lube," he announced, placing the knife on the table at his sub’s side before hurrying to the bedroom, grabbing the bottle and hurrying back. Distracting Sherlock with his right hand, tapping randomly over the little blotches of dried wax and interspersing those with gentle scrapes of his fingernails on blank skin, John squirted lubricant into his left hand and began, as silently as he was able, to finger himself open.

Sherlock was nearly mewling with pleasure, completely lost in the sensations of John’s fingers dancing across his skin. He heard John shift and move forward, and wondered when he’d get the sensation of his Dom’s fingers spreading him. Suddenly, John was bearing down on Sherlock’s cock, and the sub gave a lusty moan as he filled his Dom, tugging lightly at his bonds with the desire to grab hips and yank him down.

John felt no shame in dropping his head back and moaning with the pleasure of piercing himself on his sub’s cock. It had been so long since he’d been on the receiving end, he’d almost forgotten what it was like. Too many Doms and subs alike viewed a Dom being penetrated as degrading and he had no idea why. Their loss, though. They had no idea what they were missing out on: the stretch of his rim around Sherlock’s cock, the way he felt full even though his lover’s cock had seemed so slim, the sensation of the other man’s glans against his prostate. "You feel... _incredible_ ," he breathed, forcing his chin back to his chest to take in the sight of Sherlock covered in black wax and straining against his ropes. "You _look_ incredible," he praised breathlessly.

"You’re amazing," groaned Sherlock, writhing underneath. John was was hot around him. It was incredible. He’d never been allowed to be inside of someone before. It was a good thing he had the cock ring, or else he’d be coming already.

"I know," John replied cheekily. "And I'm going to fuck myself on your cock until I come. We'll see what I feel like from there." The moan Sherlock let out at his words was positively _wrecked_ and the Dom grinned as began to ride in earnest, swiveling his hips until he could find the angle that serviced his prostate. As soon as he found it, he held that pose and fucked himself ruthlessly on the slim cock, using his sub for his pleasure alone.

Sherlock moaned again. This was different than anything else. John was using him, but it was for both their pleasures. He bucked his hips the little bit he could, trying to help his Dom.

An achingly-sweet, familiar sensation was building in his spine and John just kept trying to fuck himself harder, faster. His fingers dug into the wax-splattered chest below him and his short nails became claws as he chased after the ecstasy of relief. When he could finally hold the pleasure back no more, he let it consume him like a fire, sweeping through his veins and over his skin as his enthusiastic cock shot streams of come across the black wax.

A whimper broke from Sherlock as John came. His Dom _still_ hadn’t come inside of him. He felt some strike his chin and lips and his tongue darted out to capture the taste, his own cock painful with desire.

John hummed with the buzz of pleasure, rolling his hips on the still-hard cock up his arse. Some of his come had landed on his sub's face and the sight of him licking it up would have made him hard again twenty years ago. Now, it just made his cock twitch, pulsing out another weak wave of semen. Slowly, he gathered the streaks of his release from the marked chest on a finger, holding it to Sherlock's lips. The man didn't even need to be told to lick it up. When the only thing left on his chest was wax, John lifted himself from his partner's cock, biting his lip at the despairing moan the action earned, and shuffled forward until the tip of his cock was resting on his sub's lips. "Clean me," he Commanded.

Sherlock eagerly suckled at the softening cock, sliding his eager tongue along the slit, earning another moan. He could just imagine the debauched look on his Dom’s face as he made a show of cleaning him off, hoping maybe soon he’d be allowed to come.

"Mmm. That's it, love. God, you're brilliant at this," the Dom complimented, moving backward out of range when he was satisfied that the job had been completed. 

His sub made an annoyed sound and his head short forward to follow, only to drop back when John lightly slapped his cheek. 

"None of that, Sherlock," he murmured, smiling nonetheless. He swung his leg over and climbed off, biting his lip at the way his legs didn't seem to want to support him any longer. It was good, though; he couldn't remember the last time he had been this blissed out. When he was finally able to stand, he had to bite his lip again at the sight his sub made: the black of his hair, blindfold, collar, and wax was made all the more noticeable by the pale skin, coated in a light sheen of sweat and flushed head to toe. "Fucking gorgeous," he whispered, voice awed.

Sherlock blushed deeper at the compliment. He tried to spread his legs a little wider, show his Dom he’d been a good boy. He needed, so badly, but he didn’t trust his words right now. John was moving around a bit unsteadily and it made him hum to think that he’d had a hand in that.

Legs trembling with the effort, John kneeled on the floor between Sherlock's feet, grabbing the lube and slicking up his fingers. For long moments, he simply stroked his sub's rim, softening the muscle and enjoying the little whimpers it produced, his cock starting to harden again at the thought of that vice grip around him. When the bound man's hips began trying to shift, he pulled his finger away long enough to pour lube into his other hand before pressing a finger into his sub's arse at the same time he palmed himself, slicking his cock with lubricant Their groans of relief were simultaneous, and John continued to pump his index finger in and out of Sherlock's arse as the Dom deftly and single-handedly untied the knots restraining his sub's legs. It was long minutes until the muscles around his finger were loosened and the ankle bonds long gone when John quickly stood to kneel on the table and shoved Sherlock's knees to his chest with a hand on the back of each thigh. Not pausing, he placed the tip of cock on his sub's rim and began pushing in, gently, but firmly, forcing his cock through the orifice nowhere near prepared for his arrival and not stopping until he was ball's deep.

Sherlock groaned, whimpering with pleasure. He was deep into his own head, each thrust driving him deeper and deeper into his own mind. He arched his head back, offering his throat to his Dom. Everything he needed and more.

The hole around him was so unprepared, it almost hurt being this deep. But it was a good hurt, being clenched this hard, being sucked back in this desperately. Sherlock's moans were a continuous rumble in his chest as his arms strained against their bonds. Until John swiveled his hips just right and the pale chest arched off the table like he'd been shocked, those luscious lips going wide in a silent scream as the muscles around him convulsed. Prostate. Once found, John began pounding into the gland endlessly, Sherlock's back now a permanent arch and his fingers clawing at the ropes restraining him. "I'm going to fuck you until you find the words to beg me for release. Then I'm going to fuck you through that until you're sobbing. And when I'm ready to come again, I'm going to pull off your cock ring and feel you come around me," he promised, voice a low growl, never stopping the violent movements of his hips. Thanks to his previous orgasm, and his age, this was one vow he wouldn't have to worry about breaking. He licked his lips, pushed Sherlock's thighs back further, and fucked harder into that tight hole.

Sherlock gasped and groaned. He struggled to find words as each strike to his prostate sent pleasure crashing behind his eyes. "P...please," he finally got out. A sob shook his chest. "John…."

John snapped his hips forward particularly hard and wrapped his hand around the other man's cock, already a deep, angry red from its need, and inability, to release. "What did you call me?" he asked, voice low and dark, as he began to stroke the erection in his grasp with blurring speed to match the rhythm of his hips.

"Please, sir. Please... _Captain_ …" Sherlock corrected himself, gasping through his words. Part of him was afraid John would keep him here, not let him find his release. But he _had_ to trust. No matter the pleasure and pain spiking through his system. 

Throughout his military career, John had been called ‘Captain’ by a variety of people and in a variety in tones. But when Sherlock said it like that... _"Oh..."_ he breathed. "Say that again."

"Captain, sir," Sherlock’s voice trembled and broke as he turned his head away, shaking.

"Such a good, clever boy," John praised. The orgasm that had been building slowly, not feeling a need to hurry along because of how recently he'd already come, surged forward, waiting at the tip of his cock. "And good, clever boys deserve treats." With no further warning, he unsnapped the cock ring and his sub was screaming, tears streaming down his cheeks as he came, his already tight hole convulsing around his Dom's cock, pulling John head-on into his second orgasm.

Sherlock blacked out. When he came to again, he was trembling, John rubbing feeling back into his freed arms. Still blindfolded, Sherlock curled up into his chest, just clinging to him.

"Such a good boy for me, my Sherlock," John murmured, stroking through his sub's hair. In any other situation, the way the man trembled would have concerned him. In this situation, feeling that long body curling against him on their sitting room table, shaking, only left him warm with satisfaction. Carefully, he began peeling away the wax, and though it wasn't painful, Sherlock gave a little sigh with each splotch removed from his skin. "Such a good boy," he whispered. "I want to move us to the couch. Can you stand?" The blindfold he left on, not wanting to overwhelm his sensitive sub emerging from subspace with another sense.

Nodding, Sherlock leaned on John as they made their way the short distance to the couch. He remained curled up against his Dom. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," John replied easily, settling against the arm and adjusting the sub against him to lay more comfortably. He was so much more comfortable and relaxed than he'd ever been in his life, his Dynamic sated more thoroughly than ever before, and he just wanted to lay here and bask in it. "Would you like to talk about our scene? Did any of it make you uncomfortable? Anything that you particularly liked?"

"I was a bit worried you wouldn’t let me come," he said quietly. "But I liked it."

"I will only let you not come if I'm punishing you," John said, pressing a kiss to the sweat-damp curls. "But you will know it. I may like to try experimenting with a cockcage in the future, but you will be soft when I put it on you. You won't be able to get hard at all. Not without me allowing it."

"Okay," Sherlock sighed heavily against him. He just wanted John to take care of him. He was bone weary, but in a good way. And he knew that John was home.

As his sub fell asleep at his side, John couldn't help but fiddle with the tag hanging from the black leather collar. His life had been long, full of strife, and he hadn't really believed he would ever find the right person for him. But home was right here, curled against his side. Smiling, the Dom followed Sherlock into sleep.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> If you read and enjoyed, please remember to leave us a Comment letting us know what you thought. Also, always feel welcome to drop by tumblr and say ‘hi’ to [Mer](http://merinda.tumblr.com/) and [Kat](http://themadkatter13-fanfiction.tumblr.com/).


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